Remains (Writer’s Games)
The first of three stories written for the Writer’s Games 2021 writing competition that didn’t place in their events. These were written within a 72 hour time period, with a given prompt and a strict word limit. Quality varies wildly.
The squirrel hung from the gallows, chittering beneath the shifting shade of the foliage around it. Jess watched it hang from its rear feet, dangling down toward the bird feeder that had long replaced any noose, reaching for forbidden treasures not meant for it. The person who hung the feeder was never identified, but she suspected it was one of the old veterans that still lived nearby. It was probably the same person that, over time, planted the small bushes and flowering vines that now grew up around the old stone stage and the wooden scaffolding atop it. It takes years for plants to reach such vibrancy; much of the growth must have been planted soon after this structure had been forcibly retired. As if somebody wanted the passage of time to cover past failures. To shroud the mistakes and tragedy of twenty years ago and leave behind something beautiful in its place.
To Jess, it was an insult. To Jess, verdant snakes drunk on blood-soaked soil taunted her as they danced in the wind. Little leaves branching off the body like flat, perverse fins — a sprouting leviathan planted to make the site of her parents’ murder something to celebrate.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Jess yelped; she hadn’t heard the old woman step up beside her. A skittering sound drew her attention back to the gallows. The squirrel had fallen, startled by her outburst, and ran off into the foliage. His grand robbery had been foiled, this time. Jess’ new companion chuckled, and Jess turned to properly look at her. Her hair was almost entirely gray, save for a few stubborn streaks of pale brown, and her face was etched by years of laughter and sorrow. Age bent her spine and neck, but not enough to bury her regal bearing. Clear green eyes gazed at the feeder.
“Oh, he fell. Poor thing.”
“What?” Jess asked.
“The squirrel, the one on the structure,” the woman replied, gesturing.
“No, not that. What did you mean by beautiful?” Jess kept the momentary irritation from her voice — she didn’t like being snuck up on. “And who are you?”
The woman perked up. “Oh, where are my manners.” She turned and extended one hand; she was supporting herself with a cane in the other. “My name is Clarisse; you can call me Gran.” She smiled. “Everyone around here calls me Gran. It’s easier.”
Jess took the hand and shook it. She was surprised by the strength in Clarisse’s grip. “I’m Jessica; you can call me Jess. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She looked back to the centerpiece of the square. “But what did you mean? How can an overgrown gallows be beautiful?”
“Look at it,” Clarisse said. “Look at the flowers, the vines — oh! Even that little bluebird there. All of these colorful living things gathered in one place.” She smiled, and pulled a crust of bread from her pocket. Nearby pigeons seemed to manifest out of thin air as she spread crumbs in the thin grass that had grown up through the cobblestone around the slab. “How could one look at this and not think so?”
“But it’s all on a gallows,” Jess protested. The fingers of her left hand tapped her thigh in accelerating succession. “People died here.”
My people, she added internally. She took a breath — in and out — and spoke again. “I’m sorry, I just don’t see how anything covered in so much blood has any right to be beautiful.”
Clarisse nodded. “I can understand that. Not many people were willing to keep living here once the town expanded for that very reason.”
“So why did you stay?”
The old woman shrugged. “I didn’t have the means to move, at the time. But at that point a lot of the feelings around that platform had changed. It had turned from a place of punishment and fear into a place of justice — ” she grimaced, “ — as tragic as it was.”
Jess grit her teeth. My parents died on that platform. She could only imagine their bodies going limp as the noose snapped their necks — or worse, twitching and gurgling as they choked to death as they dangled. Her uncle hadn’t told her what happened to their bodies. “I can’t see it that way,” she choked out. “It’s a place of death for me.”
“I understand,” Clarisse said. She looked at Jess with a sad smile. “I lost my husband here, on that very platform.” She snorted. “He cursed the old Baron with his last breath; I’m surprised it didn’t wither that entire family on the spot.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” was the only reply Jess could give. Dad? The finger tapping turned to scratching. She swallowed and put her hands in her pockets where they wouldn’t distract her. “What happened?”
The woman sighed and gestured to a bench a few paces behind them. “Come, sit. My bones aren’t what they used to be, and this is a topic as heavy as they come.”
Jess’ eyes widened, and she threw her hands before her. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you relive a painful memory. That was inconsiderate of me.” She cursed herself internally. Idiot. Selfish moron. You were taught better than that.
Clarisse waved her off and eased into her seat. “Don’t worry your little red head about it. It’s been twenty years, give or take. I’ve made my peace; I know Rodrigue is waiting for me in the beyond.” Her smile was soft, and her eyes looking at something far, far away. “He loved his neighbors and this town nearly as much as he loved me, and I think he’s glad of what his death did for us.” Someone called from across the space. Clarisse waved back cheerfully, as if she hadn’t been discussing the death of a loved one.
Jess sat beside her, keeping a comfortable gap between them. Propping her elbows on her knees, hands clasped, Jess felt…odd. How can she speak so calmly about this? She wondered. Surely something else happened. She needed more context. “What happened?”
“Oh, Rodrigue was your classic righteous firebrand,” Clarisse said. She chuckled. “It’s why I fell in love with him. Every bit the hero you read in the stories. Street urchin stole from a shopkeeper? He’d pay for the item and help the child find a better path. Thugs causing problems in the bar, harassing women? He’d throw them out and make them apologize the next day.”
Jess shook her head. “He sounds exhausting,” she murmured.
Clarisse laughed. “Oh, he could be, but not for the reasons you might think.” She leaned forward and scattered the last crumbs of bread for the birds. The squirrel watched from the shadows of the foliage, jealous but unwilling to approach the scary red-maned creature that had scared him before.
“What do you mean?”
“He wasn’t arrogant or self-righteous, despite what some people might believe,” the old woman said. “He had a strong moral compass. If he saw some injustice and didn’t stand up to it in some way, it would eat at him for days. Even if there was nothing he could feasibly do about it.” Her smile returned. “That trait is what drew me to him; I knew I’d be safe with him, and cherished.” Jess was granted a wide grin. “Of course, he was no slouch when it came to looks either!”
Jess laughed politely. “He sounds like a catch.”
“He was, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t work for it,” Clarisse declared. “For all his heroics, he was as dense as the stone beneath our feet. I could have walked in on him naked — and I was not an ugly girl in my youth — and his first reaction would have been to find me clothing because I simply must have made a mistake, and he didn’t want to take advantage of me.”
“Well?” Jess asked, smiling. “Did you?”
“I did!” Clarisse exclaimed. “The fool simply hadn’t considered that I — or any of the other girls, for that matter — had any such interest in him.” She scowled. “I had to sit him down and explain to him using very clear language what exactly I wanted.”
“And?” Jess prompted.
“Apparently he thought I hated him because he ‘kept causing me problems!’” she jeered. Jess laughed, prompting a heavy sigh and a tired smile from Clarisse. “So yes, he was exhausting.” Her smile dimmed, and she looked to the center of the plaza. “It was that same strong, bright, unyieldingly good spirit that drew the ire of the old Baron and got Rodrigue killed.”
The temporary brightness in the conversation had been struck down by the shadows cast by the gallows outside. Surely there was some mistake, Jess thought. Dad wouldn’t have done anything to a man like that. Right? She swallowed. “What happened? What did he do?”
Clarisse leaned back in the bench, propping her cane up against the armrest. “It was around when they started doubling and tripling our taxes. We were never a rich city. We made do, and we were content. Whatever wealth we had, the old Baron extracted from us for his own projects.”
“What projects?”
“He wanted to expand his estate, draw in merchants and artisans with the construction of a new town — directly beside his new estate, conveniently — and so on.” She shook her head. “I think he intended to bleed us dry so he could replace us with newer, and more importantly wealthier, neighbors.”
“I had been told,” Jess said slowly, “That he was trying to revitalize the town with public works and stuff like that.”
Clarisse scoffed. “When the option was either do the work or get beaten by the tax collectors, it wasn’t much of a public works project. No, the Baron was taking as much from us as he could before he tossed us away. So much worse than his father.”
Grandpa? Jess hadn’t heard much about him; he died when she was little. Her father had always called him a bleeding heart. ‘Foolish with money,’ I think the phrase was. “What was he like? The father? I haven’t…read much about him.”
Clarisse shrugged. “He was strict, for better or worse. He had some leniency for poor harvest years, but we were expected to make up the difference in some way,” she coughed into her arm, and cleared her throat. “Sorry, allergies. But he’d be fair, and he’d let us come up with our own ways to make up that difference. He was no soul of compassion — we were definitely beneath him — but he wasn’t the tyrant his son was.”
That can’t be right. Jess’ chest felt tight. Had her uncle lied to her?
Clarisse slapped her leg. “Oh! I’ve gotten off topic, I’m sorry dear.”
Jess shook her head. “No no, I was the one who asked.” For better or worse. “What were we talking about?”
“I was getting around to telling you why my husband was executed,” Clarisse said. She mumbled something to herself, and then nodded sharply. “Yes, that’s where we were. If you still feel up to letting an old widow ramble?”
“If that’s okay?” Jess said. “I don’t want to be a source of pain or discomfort — ”
“Nonsense; I told you already that I’ve made my peace. Now, where was I…”
“Rodrigue had a heart of gold, and that caused problems with the Baron,” Jess prompted.
A group of young adults — teenagers really — walked into the square. One of the young women hopped up on the stone slab in the center, and the rest gathered around. Broken conversation and laughter floated across to them. Dancing on graves… Jess thought.
“That’s right, thank you dear,” Clarisse said, pulling Jess’ attention back to the story. “Long story short, Roddy saw someone getting beaten by the tax collectors for not having tribute ready, and rushed in to help them. Now, the Baron’s thugs were not the strongest men, physically, mentally, or morally. Roddy was all those things. It was a short fight, but one of the thugs fell on his own knife and died in the scuffle.”
“So it was an accident?” Jess asked. That’s not what I was told, she thought. This woman must be misremembering. She nodded to herself. Yes, that must be it. Age negatively impacts memory — it’s a known fact.
“An unfortunate one,” Clarisse said. “He was declared a terrorist and executed in front of the town. Mandatory attendance. Anyone found outside the event was jailed until they remembered to release them.”
“What did your husband do in response?” Jess asked quietly. Her chest felt tight.
“He waited until a guard — just one, mind you — escorted him to the platform before breaking free. He threw the guard down the stairs and cried out, ‘Don’t let my death be the death of kindness in this town!’” Clarisse sniffed and cleared her throat. “He probably stewed on that on the entire march to the gallows. He said more, but that was the line that stands out the most. Before he could finish the guards — ”
“You don’t need to finish,” Jess interrupted. “I understand.”
Clarisse took a slow, deep breath, and nodded. “Of course.” She coughed. “Sorry dear; I had stepped out for a spot of air and sun, and I’ve intruded on your own day. With such sad conversation too!”
Jess shook her head and stood, offering a hand. “It’s no problem at all; I haven’t been here in a long time, so I was just exploring.” Clarisse took her hand and Jess pulled her to her feet. The woman took her cane in hand and smiled.
“Nonsense! I’ll make it up to you. Come back here tomorrow at around this time and I’ll treat you to brunch. Ah ah,” she waggled her finger as Jess opened her mouth to protest. “I insist.”
Jess sighed. “Alright ma’am, I’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me,” Clarisse snorted. “It makes me feel old.”
“I’ll remember for tomorrow,” Jess said, “It was a pleasure meeting you. You gave me a lot to think about.” A little too much, she added.
“Likewise, my dear,” the old woman said. “Now run along, there’s more town to explore yet. I’ll meet you tomorrow for brunch!”
Jess laid on the bed in one of this inn’s loft rooms, thinking about the past. Her head buzzed with memories. She didn’t remember much; flashes of a bright parlor room, deep purple flowers in a vast garden, laughter, and love from two faceless figures standing over her. The faint scent of lavender. Then things blurred; a sudden vacation trip with her aunt and uncle to their summer home miles away, confusion, a stuffed horse falling out of the carriage, they didn’t turn back, Uncle Edward wouldn’t talk to her, why didn’t they turn back, she’d get dirty —
Her chest hurt. She rolled over and groaned into the pillow. There’s too much noise, she thought. It’s hard to remember anything. Uncle Edward and Aunt Ingrid had taken care of her for most of her life, treating her like their own daughter. They wouldn’t lie to me, would they? The people here weren’t hateful. They smiled and laughed and struck up friendly conversation with strangers.
So why did they murder her parents? Why did she care so much when she barely knew them? She rolled again, staring at the exposed, dusty rafters above her. She functionally had parents — good ones, ones that loved her, took care of her, but weren’t afraid to set her straight when she went astray. They told her the truth when she was old enough. I was old enough to understand the concept, but not old enough to really care. That’s why I needed to come here. I wanted to feel something.
“So why did Rodrigue have to die?” she murmured. Good people don’t die for no reason. That’s not how the world works. Good people are rewarded, and bad people are punished. Right?
That means someone was lying. Uncle would never lie to me, she thought, but…Clarisse doesn’t look like a liar either. She seems like a good person. Was there any way they were both right?
“It must have been a freak accident or mistake,” she decided. “If they knew he didn’t mean to kill that guard, they wouldn’t have treated him that way, and everything would be okay.”
The twenty-four-year-old woman nodded to herself. That was it. Her parents were good people; Clarisse must have been mistaken about the taxes. If more wealthy people came to the town, the town would grow, and everyone would benefit. It made perfect sense. The tightness in her chest eased, and it felt easier to breathe.
She’d talk to Clarisse about it tomorrow, and clear up these misconceptions. Then everyone could start to heal. She’d make it right with a smile.
Properly convinced, Jess dragged the thin blanket over herself, flipped the pillow over, and laid her pale cheek down on the cool fabric. She quickly dropped off into sleep, like a baby in a cradle. The only thing missing was the tinkling tones of a music box to soothe those old memories.
“ — and that’s why I think it was all just a big mistake,” Jess explained. Clarisse sat patiently across the table from her, sipping her tea. The younger woman leaned back in her seat and nodded once to herself, satisfied and little bit breathless. The elder slowly lowered her tea cup, wearing a bemused smile. “What?” Jess asked. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, just…who did you learn about this town from? We’re not significant enough to be in any history books.” She cupped the warm porcelain in her hands. “We just seem to have very different interpretations of what happened all those years ago. I lived it, but perhaps you have a different perspective?”
“I-I learned about it from my family,” Jess stammered. She cleared her throat. “My uncle, actually. When the town got angry he didn’t want to get caught up in all of it. So we left.” She shifted in her seat. The lie slipped from her lips with shocking ease. She barely even thought about it until it was hanging in the air between them. It isn’t really a lie, though, she told herself. Nobody wants to get caught up in violence.
“Interesting,” Clarisse said. “What happened to your parents?”
“They died when I was very young,” Jess said, thankful for the opportunity to tell the truth. “My aunt and uncle raised me.”
“I’m glad you had a loving family,” the old woman said. Her hair caught the light through the café window like the morning sun on spidersilk. “It sounds like they kept you safe and happy.”
“They did,” Jess said, smiling into her own cup. She sipped at her tea; notes of cinnamon floated off the amber surface into her nose. A warm, energizing smell for a day ripe with potential. “I owe them a lot.”
“I suppose I do too, for the fascinating conversationalist they’ve allowed me to meet,” Clarisse chuckled. She sat back and gazed out the window, toward the flowering execution site outside. “I never got to finish my story, did I?”
“I don’t think so,” Jess said. “I do want to hear it. I-If it’s okay with you, of course.” She blurted the last words, realizing her selfish request at the last minute. Clarisse shook her head.
“Again, it’s no bother. Where was I…?”
“Rodrigue had just given his speech.”
“Right,” Clarisse’s eyes grew distant again, staring into another time. “He died quickly — a sword to the heart, from behind. He was gone before his body fell.” She swallowed. “We were stunned. We didn’t know how to react. Then someone, some brave, angry soul, found a rock and threw it. Struck the side of the thug’s head.” She looked upward, clear eyes searching for a memory. “I can’t remember if the stone killed him, or if it was the fall from the platform. Either way, it was like gunpowder had ignited. Everyone started roaring and screaming, and they rushed the guards, tax collectors, thugs, anyone associated with the Baron.”
Jess shuddered. “That sounds horrifying.”
“It was, but I could barely feel it,” Clarisse’s gaze fell to the table, staring blankly at the rough wood grain. “I remember walking to my husband and trying to lift him up. I needed to carry him home, where I could get him in bed and take care of him until he woke up.” She stopped and took a deep, shuddering breath. The old woman blinked rapidly and drained the rest of her tea. “Of course, I knew. I didn’t want to, but I knew. Donnel and Ky, two dear friends, helped me carry Rodrigue away. As soon as he was safe, they ran outside.”
Jess put a hand forward, touching Clarisse’s fingers. “Hey, you can stop if you need to. It’s not worth it if it hurts.”
Clarisse shook her head. “It’s worth it precisely because it hurts.” She coughed. “Anyway, I didn’t leave the house for nearly a day. I heard the shouting grow distant, but I didn’t learn much about what happened until after I saw it end.”
“What happened?”
“The Baron ordered his thugs and soldiers to kill us all.” Jess’ chest clamped down on her cold heart. What?. Clarisse continued. “Donnel died fighting; Ky lost a finger. But most people aren’t willing to kill their neighbors for coin. It ended as soon as the Baron’s guards turned on him. Ky found me as they captured him and his wife — apparently, she wouldn’t leave his side. Nobody knows where their daughter escaped to, but that’s for the best. She didn’t deserve to be punished for her parent’s sins.”
Cold comfort, that, Jess thought. Her hands clenched on her legs so tightly her nails risked tearing the fabric of her pants. If this is true…
“Are you okay, dear?” Clarisse asked. She frowned and leaned forward, extending a hand. “I’m sorry, this is a heavy subject. I know it can be hard to hear.”
Jess recoiled, and then forcibly relaxed in her seat. She felt dirty. “No. No, I’m okay. It’s just a lot to learn. It’s very different from what I’ve been told. I imagine we’re near the end anyway?”
The old woman nodded. “The ruling couple was dragged to that spout outside,” she pointed with her spoon, “and hanged. Some people wanted to let the wife go, or at least die a cleaner death, but she refused to leave her husband. I could understand that, at least.”
“Why hanging, specifically?” Jess asked.
“’A peasant’s execution for an abuser of peasants’ was what Ky called it,” Clarisse answered. “The alternative was handing the two to the mercy of the mob; that would have been messy. Actually,” she slid her empty cup to the side, and clasped her hands. “That was the original plan. But I just wanted it to be over, and Roddy wasn’t a cruel man. I wanted something easy — poison or a blade. The mob didn’t. Hanging was the compromise. I was in my thirties, too old for bloodlust. Only grief.”
“I see,” Jess said. She looked outside, toward the site of history. This angle provided a better look at the bushes and small trees growing behind the vine-covered structure. From here one could almost forget what it was all built on.
The two sat silently for some time. Jess contemplated the story, and Gran watched her patiently. The café waiter stopped and asked them if they needed anything more. Gran asked for another cup of tea; Jess said nothing. Eventually, Clarisse cleared her throat.
“Roddy loved flowers,” she said. “Loved most things, but flowers and plants were an inspiration to him. ‘They never stop reaching to the sun,’ he’d say. ‘Maybe that’s why they’re so beautiful.’” She shook her head. “Roddy strove to be just like them. He succeeded, in a way.”
“How so?”
“His spirit is what led to this becoming a free city, ruled by the people. Ever reaching toward something better, even when there are failures and mistakes along the way.” She laughed. “I think that’s why I planted those flowers.”
“You were the only that planted all of that?” Jess asked. “The innkeeper told me that nobody knew.”
Gran chuckled. “I was only the first. I planted the vines, guiding them up and around that horrible thing over the years. The flowers were some of his favorites, even if the vines do tend to suffocate nearby plants if they grow too much. I wanted to give him the chance to bask in the sun and grow forever. Turning his grave into a place of beauty felt like the truest way to celebrate his life.”
“I…think I understand,” Jess said.
“The others secretly added their own plants, flowers, that bird feeder, over time.” Gran winked at her. “They think they’re sneaky, but I know who they are. I love them for it. For remembering.”
Jess looked upon the hanging garden without responding. These are all good people, she realized. This is a good place. A kind place. She hardened her heart. Uncle has questions to answer. He was wrong about this town.
“May I ask you something, Miss Jessica?”
Jess blinked. “Just Jess, please. And of course.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-four, almost twenty-five. Why?”
“Nothing in particular; you just have a very young face.” Gran smiled. “It looks like I’ve given you a lot to think about.”
Jess nodded. “You have. I have a lot of questions for my uncle.”
“I’m sure. It would be easier if the only people who hurt were the bad ones, wouldn’t it?” Jess started — did she know? Gran didn’t notice. “How long are you in town?”
“Only a few days. I’m actually leaving here tomorrow.”
Clarisse slapped her knee. “Well! It’s a shame you can’t stay around for longer. You’ll have to visit me when you return. It’s supposed to be a pleasant day tomorrow, good for traveling.”
Jess smiled. “I’d love that. I’ll have to get moving early in the morning; I have a long road ahead of me. Actually,” she checked the clock on the wall, “I have to get going — I have an appointment coming up that I need to go get ready for.” Another lie, but a harmless one. I need time to think.
“Of course,” Gran said. She rose to her feet with some assistance from her cane. “I’m scarcely sixty and I need a cane. How far I’ve fallen.” She winked at Jess, who laughed.
“Oh come now, you look spry and ready to dance to me!”
“You humor an old woman.”
“I wouldn’t dare, Gran,” Jess said, laughing. The older woman touched her arm.
“Dear, in case I don’t see you again before you leave, travel safely, alright?”
Jess took that hand in her own. “Of course; I have to travel safely so I can eventually come back here, right? It’s not often I make a new friend.”
“And friends are always welcome here,” Gran said. “It’s what Roddy would want.”
The cool morning air shifted lazily around the town square, unmotivated by the unassuming morning sunlight. As the sun continued its journey over the earth, the wind would pick up into a proper breeze, but for now there was only the gentle rustling of eddies amongst the leaves and flowers of the gallows. Jess stood in front of Rodrigue’s grave and quietly watched small droplets of morning dew slide down the vines. The stubborn grasses glittered as the caught the light. It was a gentle display, one that would flash once as the day broke properly before succumbing to the warmth of direct sunlight. Beautiful in all stages, but Jess could not imagine any moment purer than this. The light marine layer diluting the light set a muted tone, and the silence of the old town around her demanded that only thoughts be heard. In this dawning purgatory, the shadows of the gallows were deep, but soft, emphasizing the flowering vines entangled and growing around them. The foliage and flowers formed a gentle, but bold, arch flanked by trees and bearing a gift of food for small animals. A crown of life worn by the grave of a good man, who’s remains stand as a fading symbol of growth for a small free city near the river.
It really is beautiful, Jessica thought. No matter what my parents did or didn’t do, this is beautiful. This wasn’t a memory that was being buried, it was a memorial built in honor of others. This was real. Much more real than what I’d been told.
A skittering drew Jess’ attention. Clawing its way up the wood was a small furry shape — the squirrel, once again. Jess held her breath as it climbed to the top and hung from the wood once again. This time, without interruption, it leapt forth into the open air, arms and legs spread wide and bushy tail straight. With a faint thunk and more scratching, the rodent found itself victoriously atop the bird feeder. Jess giggled as it began voraciously stuffing its face with stolen food, reward for its hard work. She watched it keep eating, stuffing its cheeks. Soon the feeder was visibly diminished, and he still did not stop.
“Hey now,” Jessica said, stepping forward. “Don’t take all of it little guy, there has to be enough left for the birds.”
The squirrel, of course, didn’t respond. Why should it? Who is she to command him?
Jess sighed. “No more, go, shoo!” She stepped toward it, flicking her wrist. Startled, it turned and leapt away, leaving a piddling trail of birdseed in its wake. Jess nodded, and hefted her bag. “Good. Everyone gets some. No one squirrel needs that much to snack on.”
Jessica turned to leave, putting the grave of a good man and the execution site of an evil one behind her. It was time to return home — to her uncle’s house. Her mind was set, like a longship on stormy seas, on getting answers. No matter how much conflict, confusion, and disbelief rolled about in her heart, she’d do what was right.
That started with the truth, hanged and swaying in the winds of the distant past. Long before any flowers bloomed, or vines grew. Back when the people were angry, and a woman widowed. Back before her family sent her away.
