ARTS & CULTURE | FICTION
Reme by Brittany Kramberg
T
ears slide down the cheeks of the old woman as she knelt before the crumbled throne, a reminder of what once was.
“Remember me, King of all kings. Remember me. Remember Your people.” Her crooked fingers reached out stroking what remained of the broken arm, part of it had been worn smooth with the caresses of others begging for their King to remember them.
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“Where are you, my King? Did you forget about us?” Her hunched shoulders sagged as a moan of anguish escaped from her cracked lips. The tears that trickled down her aged cheeks briefly touched her open lips, mixing dried blood with the salt of her sorrow.
Hearing the barking orders of a deep voiced man, she stood with bones cracking as she did so. Using the back of her hand she dried her tears and began to hobble towards the sound of a whip cracking. Glancing back, she cast her eyes to the throne, “Forgive us, save us.” A beast of a man walked in, his whip snapping as he grabbed the old woman’s arm. “Save your prayers, we all know Mephaust is your king now. No one can save your people.” Dragging her out of the once glorious temple, he threw her on the stone stairs. She gave a cry of pain as her brittle bones hit the unyielding rock. A crack was heard as her wrist twisted back when she tried to catch herself. The whip came down, tearing through
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her rags, ripping into her frail skin. Again and again it ripped into her. Crimson began to trickle from her body. Laying her head down, the woman began to pray for death. Suddenly the whip stopped. It hung limp in the air as the man tumbled down the steps. Pain-filled blue eyes looked up into defiant green ones. A young woman bent down beside the old woman and helped her up. Gasping, the old woman shook her head knowing the punishment for slaves who killed taskmasters. “Daughter, go.” Trying to push the younger away, she could barely raise her left arm as the other hung limply at her side. “No, Mother Sachairi. I will not leave you