Revenge of the Snake

         Did I do the right thing? A man sat in a cell, staring blankly at the wall. The cell itself was of little interest, what was in it, of less. How did I get myself into this? He thought. The cell was of gray stone, well built, with a single barred window and gate. Well it’s to late now.

         

         “Do you, Skiev ‘Snakefang’ Karlinga, Solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you by whatever gods you believe in?” Asked the guard. Kyle Skerlingar, age thirty-three, guard for seven years currently residing in lord Carlingans’ manor.
         “I swear to tell the truth.” He said
         “Good, then we can begi-”
         “I also” He interrupted. “ Solemnly swear that if I am sent to jail, that everyone in this courtroom, and those unfortunate enough to step in it while I am in here, will die.” Skiev said.
         “Are you threatening everyone here, Mr. Karlinga?” Kyle said, ironically enough, in a threatening tone.
         “I don’t make threats.” Skiev said simply. “I also, however, don’t break my promises.”
         “Let us begin already.” said the judge wearily. Judge Fefka, age sixty-seven, judge thirty-two years, lives at his home on the outskirts of town. What was he doing here?
         “Where’s judge Taylor?” Skiev demanded.
         “Sit and be quiet.” The judge said. “Taylor caught a fever and couldn’t make it.”
         Skiev went to the witnesses’ bench and sat, he had no lawyer, he had refused one. There were twenty people attending this farce. The guard, the judge, twelve jury members, and six bystanders, two workers who saw, nor heard, anything but claimed they did., two Carlingans, and two witnesses. This farce would end today or tommorow, he was sure of it.
         “ May I call to the stands the suspect?” Asked the guard, playing the prosecutor.
         “You already did.” Answered the judge, obviously wanting this farce to end as well.
         He called it a farce because, well because it was. He had been found, standing over lord Carlingans’ dead body, with a knife dripping blood from his lordships jugular. Those two witnesses were maids who had vomited at the sight and had immediately sought help, not wanting to deal with the ‘delusional’ assassin .
         “Where were you at the night of the murder?” Kyle asked.
         “I was at Damon’s mansion.” Skiev said tiredly.
         “So you admit to the murder!” Kyle said excitedly.
         Honestly, where did they get these guys? “No, I was visiting Damon that night. I was there to express my thoughts related to the hospitality shown to my companions and myself.” Skiev said thinking about the four different times the citizens had tried to beat him up, the eight times he’d had to deal with footpads, and the fact that he was given scraps that a rat would refuse!
         “And what happened?” Asked Kyle.
         “He Apologized and I was dismissed.” He said.
         “And after that?” The insufferable guard continued.
         “He got up, danced a jig, and gave me everything he owned.” He paused as if thinking back. “And then asked if my poor aged aunt needed a foot wash.” Skiev managed to say this with a perfectly straight face.
         “Did he now. And did his talk of your aunt, or his dancing, enrage you and made you want to kill the man?” Kyle asked.
         Skiev was quite sure that his voice was sarcastic enough so that even a half-wit dolt such as this specimen would understand what was happening. It appeared, however, that he would have to suffer this man as the farce continued. “I was joking.” He simply said, the man should have had a verbal beating, but he had refrained. “After I was dismissed I left.” Skiev left it at that. Apart from the sarcastic comments, it had all been the truth.
         The trial continued, and was boring. At 3:26 a man walked in the courtroom, a little confused, and left smacking his hand and muttering about bugs. That had been detective John McStrevin, right on time too, age 34, residing at his home on Main St. Court adjourned and the farce would begin anew tomorrow.






'Trust is the sound of the grave-dog's bark.
Trust is the sound of betrayal in the dark.
Trust is the sound of a soul's last breath.
Trust is the sound of Death'


         “How did you do it?" A man asked. The man was sitting outside his prison door. He himself was sitting against a corner facing him. "How did you kill all twenty of those people while guarded twenty four seven?" The man wondered. He had it wrong, twenty one were dead, he just didn't know it.
         127
         “Magic.” He answered simply. This man only whished he knew. He started laugh.
         “What are you laughing at?” Asked the man worriedly. He probably thought that he had drifted off the edge of insanity, which he might have.
         “Nothing, just a joke I heard once.” He reassured the man. Was he insane? He couldn’t remember anything before he was sent to prison, how long had he been here? A day, a year? He just couldn’t remember. Why was he here?
         106
         Why are you here? What did you do? Was it for the greater good?
         Yes it was, wasn’t it? He almost felt like whining, he just didn’t know!
         “Another thing I want to know, why did you kill that man? What did you think it would accomplish? Did you want money? Did he do something to you? Why?” The man wouldn’t shut up and he wouldn’t go away.
         It’ll all be over soon
         57
         He used to have higher morals, right? He used to call himself a man of honor, a model, what was he now, where were his morals?
         “Do you trust me?” He looked the man straight in the eyes, his eyes were intense, the man seemed startled by the intensity.
         “Of course not! You’re a convicted murderer!” The man was shocked at the question.
         “They used to.” He said quietly, almost to himself. “If I said something, they would take it to heart, and believe it always.” He seemed to be in another world now. Where was he? Who was he?
         “Who used to?” The man pressed. Why did he care?
         32
         “They’re all dead now.” He said, almost to quietly to hear. Do you trust me?” He asked again.
         “I already answered that question, and the answers the same as before. No!” The man said.
         “That’s probably for the best.” He said as he started to nod off to sleep.
         “Sir, visiting hours are over, you’ll have to come with me.” A voice said. It wasn’t talking to him so it must not have mattered.
         21
         “Ok, give me a minute.” The man said in reply.
         You don’t have a minute.
         It’ll all be over soon.
         1
         


                “Ok, if you could be any poisonous animal in this book would you be a scorpion, a snake, or a spider?” Asked Josh, He and Josh had just finished reading a book on poisonous animals.
         “The snake. What would you be?” He asked. The snake fascinated him, how it moved without any legs, how it ate without chewing, and how deadly their venom was. They had to be the coolest animals out there!
         “I would be a scorpion!” Josh said excitedly. The scorpion wasn’t so cool, it was basically a spider, but with a stinger instead of a web.
         “Kids, lunch is ready!” His mom called from the back porch. His mom was the best cook in town and always made delicious home-cooked meals.
         “Race you to the dinner table.” Josh said.
         “If you really want to lose!” He took off running.

         The farce was back in session, one of the maids was describing what she saw as she stood at the witness stand.
         “It was that man. He had a bloody knife in his hand and was standing over the counts dead body.” She broke into tears. Mary Jones age 32, maid for 12 years, residing at lord Carlingans manor.
         “Which man?” Asked the guard. “Was it Skiev Karlinga, the defendant?” He asked her gently.
         Mary nodded. That alone was all that this court really needed. He looked at the jury members, nine already thought him guilty, two didn’t know, and the last one thought him innocent. That would change. In two hours, they would leave, and in half an hour be back and name him guilty by a unanimous vote. An hour after that he would be sitting in a cell.
         “Judge, I think that is all we need to convict this man of murder.” The guard said to the judge.
         “Skiev, do you wish to speak?” Asked the judge, completely ignoring the guard.
         “Just wondering if I get my one message.” He said, seemingly unconcerned.
         “Yes, of course, but after your trial.” The judge said
         Everyone in the stands was called to the witness stand and was questioned. The guard took his time. In two hours, when everything was done and the jury left to talk.

         “We have come to the conclusion, by a unanimous vote, that you, Skiev Karlinga, are guilty.”
         
         That representative had been nice enough, and got straight to the point. He had many thoughts running through his head and none of them seemed to be slowing down. He tried to concentrate on what he was writing, but it was hard.
         After a while he finished it and handed it to the guard to read. He read aloud and almost under his breath.
         “To Vincent Karlinga. Proclaimed guilty by Judge Fefka. Do not bail me out. Do not grieve. All will be well and normal. Please show this message to my friends staying at your place. Thank you, Skiev.” The guard looked at him, a question poised on his lips. He wanted to know why he didn’t want to be bailed out. The letter was innocent enough and would be sent after he was safely locked up, so he couldn’t switch it out or change it.
         “Lets go, I have places to be.” He said, and walked towards his transportation. He would be in jail soon.
         “Alright then. Move it” The guard said, oblivious to the fact that it was he who was standing around.
         “Talking to yourself? I’m moving so you’re not talking to me.” He said.

         His trip was quiet and swift. He almost wished something would happen to interrupt the flow, but nothing did. All went exactly as he thought it would. As it always does. Sometimes he wanted to deal with a madman, just to see if he could predict what they would do next. On multiple occasions he had almost gotten himself sent to a loony bin, but that wouldn’t do.
         It wouldn’t hurt any of his smaller designs to much.
         But it would destroy his grand design
         It would be to great a disruption to the flow.