Testify This - 1. Testify This

 

By Lugh

He sat silently, a wooden boy on a cold, stone bench, as they told him he would have to testify against his love. His puppet head jerked on its string as his jaw refused to move in protest. They told him he was the victim. Then they patted him on the head, the shoulders, and the back, telling him to be strong before asking if he would be all right in his room until the arraignment the next morning. His heart screamed in agony; but his wooden mouth remained clamped shut, and his head, again, nodded.

His feet lifted one after the other as he walked away. His hands swung at his sides in what he assumed was a normal manner. He felt trapped in his own body, as if someone else were making him move. In his room, he sat on the edge of the bed and considered what they wanted from him -- to turn state's evidence against his lover. It was not fair. He had seduced him not the other way around. He took two deep breaths and considered his options. Two more breaths later, the answer was clear. Without the evidence, there was no case.

A short time later, he was ready to begin disposing of the evidence.

It should hurt more than this, he thought as the blade carved a gash in his left forearm that split muscle and tendons down to the bone. Crimson stained his wooden arm as his brain failed to make his fingers move. His hand flopped uselessly on his wrist; its string was broken. He stared at it, and the growing red pool around it. It really should hurt more.

He placed the blade between his knees once he figured out that his hand would not work; then he set his jaw, and placed his palm against the blood-smeared blade. He knew, from experience now, the first part was the hardest. The blade had to bite deep or it would not work. Gripping the handle between his knees he pressed until he felt the flesh begin to separate. His hand twitched as the first of the strings began to snap. Then there was pain. Wet streaks flowed down his cheeks where only sawdust had been before. He saw a glimpse of white bone between the red lips of the second gash as his life dripped off his elbow. The blade slipped from between his knees. He could not grab it, even if he had wanted to.

Soon it would hurt no more. He smiled to himself, proud he had devised the perfect way to keep from having to turn state's witness. They had told him they could force him to testify. No one could force the dead to talk. No one except maybe God and he thought He would understand why he wanted to keep his silence on this subject. He would not condemn an innocent man. They could not make him. He was not a puppet on a string.

The room was getting colder now. The stain of his life spread around him. Darkness was closing in. He smiled. They would not win; not this time.

He closed his eyes and let the darkness come.

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