Illness, Mental & Physical.

"You are ill, what you do and who you love. It is wrong, we will fix you, you'll see."
​

The sound of hooves upon the wet cobbles pounded almost as loudly as the rain, above the drizzle, men barked out insults towards the back of the wagon towed along behind two black horses that trotted towards the town square. Citizens heaved rotted fruit towards the walls of the cart and some even managing to make it through the small, barred window in the back. Following along behind the prison carriage was a slightly larger carriage, led by four white horses. It was decorated with golden gilding and a lovely coat of purple paint had dried very brightly on the wood surround of the carriage.


Slowly, it came to a halt in the town square aside a stage which boasted a large wooden post in the center of it. Atop the post was a large metallic cone which boasted excellent width, beyond that of the post itself. Guardsmen took position along the front of the stage as crowds began to gather and a Reverend took position upon the stage after leaving the finely gilded carriage from earlier. A man dressed in fine armour joined him, much alike the guardsmen he wore a deep silver suit of armour, though boasting more gold where the guardsmen had little. He motioned forth for the prison carriages door to be opened and the prisoner brought forth, dragged from the carriage in chains was Rosseau, boasting a magnificent scruff of facial hair along with long golden locks falling past his shoulders. He was devoid of upper body clothing and wore rags and his dull green eyes twitched and burned as the daylight caught his face.


Tugging heavily on the chain, a guardsman in blackened plate dragged Rosseau across to the stage, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and hauling him up for all to see. The elderly Reverend slowly drew forwards to the edge of the stage, robe drawing behind him lightly across the wooden flooring. He rose his arms and cried out loudly above the crowds. "Silence, all of you! - Here we have a Knight of d'Homme, a Queer, a Homosexual." Many sneered as the Reverend called out the slurs and pointed towards Rosseau with a boney, pale finger. His judgemental, searing eyes peering into the boy's ragged visage.


"Many have requested he be hung for his preferences, others even suggested burning him at the stake! - Do we burn our sick though, or our wounded? The Homosexuals are ill, through only true sacrifice, pain and suffering can they be considered truly Unionist!" He rose his hand high above his head as Rosseau's shackles were locked about the tall post, his back facing the crowd as a guardsman took position with a whip in hand. From the poor Leutzman, all that could be heard were pleas for mercy and sobs as he knew what was coming next. The crowds once again became rowdy, shouting out for the whip to fall and for Rosseau to feel the torturous leather tear through his flesh and muscle.

​

He called out, arm remaining high in the air. "This-.. Disgusting /thing/ believes his sexuality should be accepted by us, by Unionists seeking to further along the Great Way and to bring new life into our communities through conception, yet he cannot have children, never will he due to his illness and for that he must repent for his sins!"

​

With the falling of the Reverend's arm the whip hammered against Rosseau's back, tearing flesh as the man screamed out in absolute agony. His eyes shut tightly as rain pattered gently against his shirtless back, diluting the blood that ran thick down his spine. The Reverend called out again. "Men like these, abominations who actively fornicate with those of the same sex. They are ill, and must repent for their sins!" The whip cracked again, opening even more flesh as the metal balls at the end of each lash pounded against the skin upon the man's back.

With another roar of sheer agony and gazing through blurred eyes as the whip struck for the seventh time as tears rolled down his face and the crowds tossed rotted fruits, shouting out insults; Rosseau collapsed in a heap, still chained to the lashing post as the guardsman continued to lash the now semi-conscious drooling heap upon the floor. Thoughts ran through his head, of how the Reverend called him ill and how the people thought him an abomination. His back ached heavily, though he could do little to amend the issue; he simply knew that life was unfair to those alike him and that pain would be a normal occurrence.


The laughter of children and adults alike could be heard as they rejoiced in the beating of a defenseless man and after the guards had finished with him, they unshackled him, leaving him laid aside the post after proper medical treatment was taken to stem the bleeding from his lash wounds. Citizens seemed to ignore and avoid him as they went about their business and returned to their daily goings on.

​

Awakening in the back of a cart, amongst bodies of those that had died of illness, wounding and anything inbetween, Rosseau let out a light groan, his voice gritty and quiet due to a lack of fluid consumption. He rolled aside, falling off the left of the cart and into deep, wet mud and pushing upwards with both arms, weakly raising himself to gaze at the back of the cart that now moved swiftly away from him and showed no signs of stopping. He reached a hand out once again, towards the back of the cart before finally drifting back into unconsciousness.

​

"Filth, that is what you are and what you shall always be known as.

Expect no pity, Alaire-.. For you are an abomination."
​

 

[Darwinfluff]

Love it!

 

[Axelu]

Proud of you!! Wonderfully written, and heart-wrenching.