Sometimes it’s tough. Sometimes unbearable.
We are still here. What will the future hold?
The old king had created his own version of religion.
It gave him permission to do as he saw fit.
It gave him what he needed.
After all why should a ruler obey any rules other than his own?
In the end he died, in agony, from the injuries he had suffered, long, long before.
His new religion had replaced the old.
All the old structure was destroyed.
The places of education and learning, the hospitals and alms houses, the communal meeting places were looted and demolished.
The administrators of the system were persecuted.
Their residences were destroyed and their treasures melted down.
The population had lost an asset which was not replaced.
The king had his requirements met by the new religion but he did not seem to realise that his population also had its needs.
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The old woman sat in her cottage.
With broom in hand she had swept yesterday’s dust and ashes out of the door and on to the track which leads past the woods towards the village.
Everything was upside down.
Where had certainty, faith and trust gone?
How was this new religion going to help?
Had the old ways gone forever?
Others in the village both around and about seemed to feel the same way.
It was a dangerous time.
Who could you trust?
Was there anyone you could talk to?
Was it better to say nothing?
Everything was going wrong.
Who was to blame?
If you stuck together would it be safer?
All questions, no answers.
Then suddenly someone said it was her.
She was a witch.
Definitely.
She was creating all these difficulties.
They would be better off if she was gone.
Round up her family, friends and acquaintances.
Get rid of them all.
Then we can breath easily and safely once again.
And so they were marched away.
Somewhere very far away.
There would be no coming back.
The jailer laughed and joked.
Maybe it will turn out okay.
You know?
Just admit they were to blame and it’d be fine.
Then suddenly, one evening, he was a menace, cruel and terrifying.
Not what they had expected.
In the morning they were lead outside, into the light.
Out of the gates and away from the stone walls.
Good to leave all that behind.
Then marched up the hill.
Maybe going home?
A hood was placed over each head.
It was going to be a mystery.
Someone laughed.
They were left until they kicked and turned no more.
Hanging still, silent, as the damp cold mist dropped and the dark of night crept in with a shiver.