I'd Rather Die

The wide chamber was packed so tightly it was difficult to tell where one person ended and another began. Every color of the human spectrum, every type in both sexes. Thin curtains of smoke hung in the air, and a few individuals were tottering around, partially high on the fumes.

In the midst of the chaos, three spidery figures fed a fire with green wood, urging more of the heady smoke into the room.

The silence was taut – pulled until it could not stretch any further.

Thin, ragged breathing broke it once, filtering through the assembled group. Cold descended.

As one, they turned their attention to the center of the room, eyes burning with the haze and senses dimmed in the gloom. Only hearing seemed to remain reliable, but no one spoke. Not a word, not even a thought.

They were waiting for something. Maybe for someone – it was difficult to say. A savior, of sorts, perhaps, who could deliver them from whatever hellish existence each dared to call his own.

A young man, bare to the waist, made his way through the crowd, towards the central fire. His skin shimmered, damp with sweat. People recoiled as he passed, their eyes filled with both fear and longing.

Once beside the fire, he turned. The flickering light picked out the remnants of anger. Under the golden illumination, faint scars became visible across his torso. No one cared about those scars – it was the white line bisecting his neck that held their attention.

The masses were silent, for their leader was silent. Their purpose was silence, to guard a most precious gift.

Their leader raised his hands, firelight picking out the signals as he “spoke” to those with him.

Welcome, and well come.

He was so close to the fire it had turned his back red and pulled his skin tight as a drum.

The rest returned his greeting in their own fashion. Every skit was the same, every meeting rehearsed. Only the faces differed, and sometimes not even those.

They did not need to know what was said to know what he meant.

The script never varied, and neither did he. His fingers knew the patterns on their own as they signed the words, speaking in silence.

Everyone has secrets. We hold them close, let them strangle us. People ask us to let them out of their cages. Maybe you’ve killed, cheated or stolen. Maybe it’s who you are – whatever you try to hide will stay hidden. None of us want to hear what you’ve done, but offer you sanctuary in silence.

Will you stay with us? Will you keep your silence and hold ours dear as well?

There were nods around him. He waited for the feeling of one-ness to grow and consume his audience. Playing to a crowd was a trick – an illusion of the highest sort.

It was safe to build, made so because of their silence. A wall could be erected, held up between these frightened, secretive masses and whoever would attempt to know them.

He smiled and pulled one of his associates from the crowd.

You – will you share your secrets with us? his hands demanded.

The one he had chosen was a boy, no more than fifteen or sixteen. Dark eyes gleamed in the firelight as the child gave back his reply.

I’d rather die!

He smiled faintly at the proclamation and reached for the boy. His thumbs found the links that would temporarily shut the boy down if blocked.

A blood chokehold, rather than an air one – both faster and safer.

Twin seconds later, the boy had passed out, dead to all outward appearances. He hoisted him into his arms, and saw another of his silent speakers sign. He did not have to look to know what was said.

If he would give his life for his secret, would you? Could you?

It was the challenge no one failed to meet, strangely enough.

He carried the boy’s body through the crowd, drawing sharp looks. None of them held sympathy for his burden, but knowing what sort of madhouse this troupe generally attracted, he was not surprised.

He just needed to get the child away before he began twitching and regained consciousness.

As he exited the building, he could hear sound beginning again – handing the rocks out.

The little keepsakes had been someone else’s idea, but it was a good one. One of the others had figured out the design – a meld of Egyptian and Wiccan symbols etched on rock and coated with a thin layer of clear plastic of some sort. The finished product served as a nice reminder.

The boy was beginning to jerk in his arms. He set him down on the ground and waited until he had regained full consciousness.

Are you all right?

The sun outside was warm, though the grass was slightly damp, still.

A nod. This is our secret?

The script was always the same. He nodded back to the boy, and his fingers added, One we’ll die for someday.

But not today, the boy finished.

No, not today. Though, he could not help but think, there probably were a few who would die soon for whatever secrets they deemed important enough. Human will was a funny thing.

No, he agreed. Not today.


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Author's Notes:
A rather fun beginning to a slightly messy story...