To feel alive

The physical pain was finally drowned out by the emotional ache.

All I can feel now is the agony I am in, based on my physical wounds alone.

It was some retribution for the damage I had done, the pain I had caused.

Soon I would be beheaded in front of the town folks.

The King enjoys making a spectacle of the death penalty.

What he doesn't know this was my own act of power, another choice I had made.

There was a time where I would have described the monotony of everyday life as "boring."

Never would I have guessed I'd spend the rest of my life to do anything and everything I could to get back to boring. Anything.

A month prior

"Tell me something James," I say swinging my long-tan legs, lazily on the wooden swing.

Shyly, I look his way.

The large Paperbark tree branch is only slightly groaning under my weight. Like a stubborn horse who would rather eat grass then walk.

It was a day for the lazy, the relentless Queensland sun blazing through where it could amongst the bushland we lounged.

James' choice of leisure is lying on the cool yet slightly crispy grass, head propped up by his hands. Watching me.

He was always staring intently at me. Like if he looked away too long, I would disappear.

His blue eyes shone, his face breaking into a smile. I focus my attention too long on the scattering of freckles dusted across his nose and cheeks and I feel a slight blush at my cheeks. I quickly look away.

"Don't you ever get bored living here? Same old thing every day?"

I say, to mask my awkwardness.

"I thought you'd never ask," his response surprises me and he effortlessly pushes himself to his feet.

He is so tall, so much taller than me. It annoys me, because I thought I was tall.

I wasn't supposed to be out in the bushland with James, I had snuck away from my chores to meet him by the river.

I know punishment and harsh criticism would await me at home. Yet, for a moment of freedom? I would rather have taken the chance at solace, even just for a moment.

I think James sensed this the first time I saw him by the river.

The day I had met him I had wanted to be alone, I had glared at him however, the moment we locked eyes I was intrigued by him.

He hadn't spoken to me, when he saw me there, so I decided I'd go over to him.

His clothes were well worn, hair too long and unkept.

He didn't share too much about himself. He'd frown or change the topic when I asked and so instead, I chatted to him, he listened, making encouraging statements.

I hadn't known this level of attention before.

Being one of five siblings, the youngest children always suffocated our surroundings with noise and needs. So, I squashed down, my own.

I did notice Papa's efforts though, he was mute and deaf, he would ensure he offered some form of affection to each of us. In a way he knew we would appreciate it the most.

I knew Papa wasn't old, however he already was aged by hard work. Hair stark white, as was his beard. Strong, yet always crippled by scoliosis of his upper spine.

I despise the word "hunchback," though, that's what the townsfolk called him. Among other things.

He stayed away from the townsfolk. They didn't take kindly to his differences, as though it might catch them if they associated with it in any way.

I never dwelled too much on how he looked, or the absence of his speech.

We shared the same green coloured eyes framed by beautiful thick long lashed, that's what I saw and I knew him as a man who dominated kindness, hard work and thoughtfulness.

Despite little time to spare with me Papa always made sure he'd share with me his latest favourite adventure read and I would swap with him my own.

I didn't like to disappoint him, nor did I wish to disappoint Mama.

Yet here I was sneaking again in the bush, with James.

He was spending a lot of time on my mind lately. I couldn't help but break into a smile when I had first seen him there today.

At this moment he reaches out his hand.

I was suddenly nervous. Whilst unkept, he is handsome. With striking chestnut hair, curtaining his big blue eyes.

His clothes didn't dull him by any means. Sure, they were dirty and torn here and there, however they fit him so well.

I could sense how physically fit he is. There was a hint of regal to him, though he'd said he was just a poorly farmhand.

Which I knew to be true, no-one of wealth would dare hang out with the pig farmer's daughter.

I am immediately self-conscious of how sweaty my hands are and I quickly wipe them on my house frock, suddenly self aware of how plain it is, before taking his hand.

He pulls out a compass, it looks too fine for a boy in torn clothes but there is no time to question it’s worth for to my surprise he starts to run, impossibly fast into the depths of the woods.

My dainty house shoes are not made for galloping around bloody bushlands. Red belly blacks were sure to be about, what if we stood on one?

He finally stops when we are at an old gold mine. I was well aware of the vast dangers of entering an abandoned mine.

My stomach turns I try to gasp something out through heavy breathing from running. James is not paying attention to me.

He easily walks in, yet I could not. I was apprehensive of walking into dark unknown dangers of the mine.

My heart immediately starts to race.

"James!" I shout.

I hear him scream, a scream of undeniable excoriating pain. Or so it seems.

I turn around and sprint home.

"Mama! Mama!!!" I see her at the clothes line her hand blocking the sun from her face as she peers at me from the distance.

Her hands are on her hip and she's furious.

"I don't want to hear it young lady!" She shouts.

My face was that of pure horror, did she not see that?

"Go get your baby sister off Sophie this instance! She's 12 years old for Christ sakes. I can't take it today."

She runs her hand over her swollen stomach.

She was impossible to talk to like this.

"Mama there's a boy..."

"A boy!" Her face just about purples.

"Go! Now!" She shouts.

My mind races. As always, she was no help. Papa wouldn't be either. I knew he too would be too busy.

I would have to sneak out. Again.

It was well and truly dark before I had a chance to get out of the house.

The cicadas chorus was in full swing and everyone was asleep, I carefully moved my baby sibling off my arm and climb out the window.

A night gown is no easier to run in than a frock.

The lantern I carry guides the way, I scarcely recall where we went by some miracle I managed to find it.

When I arrive at the mine, out of breath and I am about to go inside until I am distracted by a thundering of hooves from incoming horses.

I quickly ran into the scrub, too distracted to be cautious of any spiderwebs. I crouch low pressing into the shadow of a scrubby wattle, immediately I'm overcome by the sweet smell of the sweet honey scented blossoms.

I quickly blow out the lantern.

"Jack!" It was the King. A tall broad man, dressed in a satin navy suit, with a white silk shirt.

As I watch the King I can't help but notice how James too had the same scattering of freckles like the King, he also shared the King's hair and eye colour.

I slightly shake my head as to physically remove these thoughts.

I couldn't compare the two. James was soft, kind and caring the King. Ruled with malice, he was cold and power hungry.

The King spoke often of taking over surrounding towns and furthering his rule.

The little James had said to me indicated he wished for a small, peaceful existence.

Yet, The King I knew would never come in person for the case of a single missing boy, when he’d left others to swing without so much of a glance.

The prince, I had heard of him only, never seen him.

The King had not come alone he was with two guards.

They all confidentially walked into the mine; I was bewildered.

Then a guttural moan, from the morose King?

They all tumble out, faces pale.

"His compass," the King moans "he'd never go anywhere without his compass."

My stomach drops when I realise my James, is the King's son, his Jack.

James was the prince.

The King clutches the compass, inspecting it and then wipes it on his suit pants more concerned by keeping it clean then staining his navy pants the rustic colour of blood.

The guard's faces looked stricken. Like they had something to say but couldn't find the right words.

One clears his throat, the short stout one.

"Ah sir, usually with that much blood."

I instantly felt the impact, tears threaten to fall.

What's worse is my legs are starting to become numb; I can't hold this squatted position.

I shuffle my weight, leaves rustle underneath me and the bush turkey who had been peacefully organising his dense mound decides now is the time to become frightened of me.

He erupts noisily wings flapping, leaves scattering breaking the sudden silence with his loud gobbling calls.

"What was that?" The guard flicks his lantern, highlighting my face.

I have been caught.

***********

The townsfolk were not satisfied with the mystery.

They never found Jack's body, yet the volume of blood concluded he could not have possibly survived.

Acted alone? An 18-year-old girl? The King would not have it.

They hung my Papa, my whole family forced to watch.

The whole town were in fact, the square had seen more gallows this year then harvest wagons, each one ordered by the King. Some whispered it wasn’t justice he was after, but ownership, of lands, of lives of everything.

Papa’s beautiful eyes went to mine before he passed.

Through my tears I mouthed; "Sorry."

I overheard a towns man whisper to his wife.

"He probably fed im to the pigs."

I pale at how little people had thought of my Papa.

Had I only not left my mundane chores and followed Jack to the mine.

During our trial the King controlled the narrative.

Our motive? Jack’s pure gold compass. As the King made this known I noticed he had put his hand in his pocket, as if to check if the compass was still there.

According to the King, Papa sent me back to the mine to secure the compass, which he seemed to have forgotten it in his murderous rampage. The only mystery which remained was where was the body?

The townsfolk were not surprised at the outcome they were well aware the King was busy hanging people for even minor crimes. He had a lust for the morbidity of power.

He was personally present for every one of my whippings.

Always the same question.

"Where is he?"

One morning I watched in horror as they dragged Sophie in.

The officer forced her to her knees before my jail cell so I could see the fear in her wide brown eyes, her dirt and tear-streaked face.

My mind raced in fear, yet it was almost immediately I screamed.

"We fed him to the pigs!"

The guards looked nauseated, yet they pulled my sister away. Back to safety.

My confession would see me face the guillotine. I would be it's first victim in decades.

The town crowded closely, a Macabre interest with the new death penalty the King was to introduce.

An ominous silence fell, when the guillotine fell and my head didn't.

When a large pool of blood fell around me from a thick red wound all around my neck and I stand.

The King was not to far away from me. He was eagerly watching the show from close proximity.

He is wearing the compass on a gold chain around his neck, splattered in my blood.

A strange knowing comes over me and I feel compelled to have the compass.

"The compass," I demand, holding out my hand.

With trembling hands, he unhooks it from his neck. He lingers momentarily;

Quickly wiping it clean on his navy suit pants before handing it to me.

My blood staining his navy pants rustic as Jack's had once done.

The compass feels almost electric as it lands in my hands and opens up, I know I must follow it.

I easily take a horse from a villager, riding into the thick of the bush.

It glows in my hands, lighting up and guiding me to the mine.

As I flung myself off the horse, I pay no mind to the sleek black mare as it immediately turns and canters into the bush.

I don't hesitate this time and walk straight into the mine.

"Tell me James, or should I say Jack? How close are you to your father?" I ask calmly.

I watch him as he stands there, as though he had been waiting for me. Rage fuelling my words I add;

"How would you feel, if I tore him apart."

"You mean me?" I had not heard him follow me. I turn and watch as the King saunters in.

He smiles at Jack; Jack refuses to meet my eyes and he hangs his head.

The King shakes his head, a slow small smile at his lips.

"Well done son, you played your part excellently."

My body wasn't familiar to me anymore, if I could have still felt my stomach, it would have twisted. My hands would be shaking.

Yet, it was when my Papa enters the mine. Pale, a large red rash around his neck, looking equally as bewildered as I felt. His eyes now bright red.

Shock forces me to react, I stumble towards Papa.

"Papa," I whisper. Stricken by what he had become.

The King strides closer towards his son.

"You can't win a war against an army of dead!" He declares triumphantly and claps his son on the back.

"This is just the beginning. And it's all thanks to you."

My eyes flick to Jack's face to see his reaction.

A smile slowly spreads across his face and he lifts his shirt, revealing a deep gash. He was naturally pale; it hadn't occurred to me until now how unnaturally pale he always was.

"You're right, you can't win a war against an army of dead." Jack answers, looking directly at me.