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Weekly Contest #194
She was waiting for her turn. Hooded and bound, for the past three hours, she sat there listening to screams. Women wailing, pleading, and cursing–and then cheering. Agonized howls piercing her ears, and the acrid scent of singing flesh flaring her nostrils, all crowned by the jeering shouts of the village people who’d hammered those stakes into the ground that very morning. The men who gathered the kindling, the children who piled it at the feet of other children, and then the judge who lit the stack. A young woman had just left half an hou...
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