The Heritic

A fun pre nano contest I won last week.

Today was the day. Junia woke groggily, it was impossible to sleep well on the floor of her cell. The sun shone in through the small window. “It looks like it will be a good day to die.” She said to herself, “A good day to go home.” By home she meant the eternal rest of heaven. Sure she had been condemned as a heretic, but that didn’t matter. She and God both knew that wasn’t her sin. It was just what she got for standing up against the inquisition of the Knights Templar.

She had been stupid. Ever since Pope Boniface had been humiliated by the French king, he only did what was in the French’s best interest. She had just thought Boniface would listen to her; she was the Cursed Saint after all. That used to mean something.

Junia sighed and leaned back against the cold stone walls. Pride, that was her sin, for that she would burn as a heretic. It would hurt, a lot. That wouldn’t matter if it meant I can go home, She thought. She held up her wrists, the tattoos marked her as the Cursed Saint were still there. She closed her eyes, this isn’t fair God. Maybe it was stupid to think they’d be gone. The curse wouldn’t be lifted till the judgment day when the skies rolled back and the Son of God would come. Today would be a good day for the return. She thought with a huff.

She placed her hands on her flat belly. 844 years and she could still feel her unborn child. The one they had taken from her the night they cursed her. Small tears crept out from her eyes, tears for her child, husband and friends who had died that day. “Why can’t I rest with them?” she asked half expecting an answer, stranger things had happened.

But not today. The only thing strange that would happen is that after the fire she’d still be alive. That’s what the curse was: to live making penance till the last judgment for the sins of the Seven. It was some druid’s twisted sense of justice, really she was only their lackey, and scapegoat.

The cell door opened and they took her to the stake. After a few words the executioner lit the fire. The flames eventually raged into a roaring furnace. She refused to scream, even though all she could think of was the pain. The last thing she remembered was thinking, please God let me die. Then there was only darkness.

Junia woke sometime later, still in pain but at least free. She figured they must have dumped her body in the river. she had washed up on a shore not far from the city. She leaned back against a tree, “God does this mean I have been purified?” She said as she looked up. The leaves danced in the wind and the sun shone down threw them. That was answer enough for her.