[009] "Look"
Title: Look
Game: FE7
Word Count: 437
Pairings/Characters: Lorca Tribe, Lyn
Warnings: Lynching. If by taking what is considered a black experience and applying it to the Lorca - whose experiences probably are closer to that of Native people - I’ve done wrong, flame away and I will not fail so hard next time.
Author’s Note: Because lynching is a form of racial terrorism and a way to maintain white superiority. Emmet Till was much in mind.
---
It starts with a look. Their tribe circles near the shade of the trees that lean over the mountainside when they come upon the town. It’s the boy’s birthday, and because he insists upon it, his parents swallow their hesitation and enter the town, leaving the rest of their group behind in the cool shadows.
The shop the boy goes to is lined with linen and bolts, molasses and salt, and of course, next to the clerk is a small bowl of candy. There are people perusing the shelves, and the boy’s parents keep their eyes down and make sure their hands can be seen. The boy is oblivious and reaches as far up as he can for the jar, pulls it down, and palms through it in large handfuls.
The customers are giving him looks from the sides of their eyes, and seeing this his parents ask him to pick a piece. He does. The clerk asks for payment.
A woman comes in, the bells on the door welcoming her in. She slides behind the counter and presses a kiss the clerk, and with eyes bright with light and hope, the boy says, “You’re so pretty; will you give me a birthday kiss?”
It ends with a look.
Their tribe is going up in sputters of flame and blood. As the family left the town, it was obvious there were people whispering, and nothing good could come of that. They looked over their shoulders all the way as they hurried back, the boy happily chewing his candy. When they find the rest of the tribe, they say they must hurry and leave.
As they’re packing, the crowd comes. It’s a flood of bodies and anger and voices asking where the boy is. When the tribe does not bring the boy, the crowd pries through each and every family. The violent throwing of belongings and bodies quickly turns to fists and drawn blades. The tribe does not want to fight; they try to flee.
The mob is made of bandits and store clerks, marauders and farmers; they catch the women, dragging them down by their dresses and pulling their hair as they ride them into the ground. The men are gutted and left like roadside kill, their faces unrecognizable. The boy is found trying to hide in a tree’s thick foliage, and his wailing carries over the din.
Everyone is trying to run; Lyn’s mother is pulling her away, but Lyn watches as one man slides through the crowd. “You still want your kiss, boy?” he says. There is no ax in his hand now, only rope.
The mob is closing in, and Lyn’s mother pushes her away, and all Lyn can do is run. She wants to go back, but with fear in her heart, she can’t remember if that’s the right thing or the cowardly thing to do. Instead, she looks back, and sees the boy, eyes wide and bright with fire, as he hangs high from the tree.
Game: FE7
Word Count: 437
Pairings/Characters: Lorca Tribe, Lyn
Warnings: Lynching. If by taking what is considered a black experience and applying it to the Lorca - whose experiences probably are closer to that of Native people - I’ve done wrong, flame away and I will not fail so hard next time.
Author’s Note: Because lynching is a form of racial terrorism and a way to maintain white superiority. Emmet Till was much in mind.
---
It starts with a look. Their tribe circles near the shade of the trees that lean over the mountainside when they come upon the town. It’s the boy’s birthday, and because he insists upon it, his parents swallow their hesitation and enter the town, leaving the rest of their group behind in the cool shadows.
The shop the boy goes to is lined with linen and bolts, molasses and salt, and of course, next to the clerk is a small bowl of candy. There are people perusing the shelves, and the boy’s parents keep their eyes down and make sure their hands can be seen. The boy is oblivious and reaches as far up as he can for the jar, pulls it down, and palms through it in large handfuls.
The customers are giving him looks from the sides of their eyes, and seeing this his parents ask him to pick a piece. He does. The clerk asks for payment.
A woman comes in, the bells on the door welcoming her in. She slides behind the counter and presses a kiss the clerk, and with eyes bright with light and hope, the boy says, “You’re so pretty; will you give me a birthday kiss?”
It ends with a look.
Their tribe is going up in sputters of flame and blood. As the family left the town, it was obvious there were people whispering, and nothing good could come of that. They looked over their shoulders all the way as they hurried back, the boy happily chewing his candy. When they find the rest of the tribe, they say they must hurry and leave.
As they’re packing, the crowd comes. It’s a flood of bodies and anger and voices asking where the boy is. When the tribe does not bring the boy, the crowd pries through each and every family. The violent throwing of belongings and bodies quickly turns to fists and drawn blades. The tribe does not want to fight; they try to flee.
The mob is made of bandits and store clerks, marauders and farmers; they catch the women, dragging them down by their dresses and pulling their hair as they ride them into the ground. The men are gutted and left like roadside kill, their faces unrecognizable. The boy is found trying to hide in a tree’s thick foliage, and his wailing carries over the din.
Everyone is trying to run; Lyn’s mother is pulling her away, but Lyn watches as one man slides through the crowd. “You still want your kiss, boy?” he says. There is no ax in his hand now, only rope.
The mob is closing in, and Lyn’s mother pushes her away, and all Lyn can do is run. She wants to go back, but with fear in her heart, she can’t remember if that’s the right thing or the cowardly thing to do. Instead, she looks back, and sees the boy, eyes wide and bright with fire, as he hangs high from the tree.