Prayers by Fatima Azeem

 Prayers by Fatima Azeem

“Down with the witch!” The crowd sang, banging their pots and pans together in celebration. The townspeople gathered around to watch another person suffocate, with their body suspended in air, their neck snapping against tight rope, and their weight fighting against gravity’s pull. The said person, a woman who met her demise, was none other than the Devil’s servant, according to rumors. A widow, a badmouth, and a gossiper—her neighbors finally pointed their fingers at the woman when one of their cows died overnight. A cow for a life, the Church agreed. 

The now trembling witch cried out as the platform beneath her feet gave out, and the hoard of Salem laughed as she squirmed to death. Unite the people, create an enemy, perhaps now the villagers were closer to God. Every man gets his wish through the death of another. 

Yes, today was a happy day. Gloria cheered among the people, feeling the sun against her skin. It was fun to occasionally watch events like this, to scream and exhaust yourself, to forget about hunger and chores and the rough calluses on her palms. The hair trapped beneath her head covering started to crawl out among the chaos. Perhaps she was too enthusiastic today, but whatever the Church did was the will of God. How could a faithful woman like Gloria not support killing the damned? 

“You ought to keep that veil on your head, young girl, unless Father sees you.” A man from her side said. Gloria avoided his gaze and quickly fixed the strands of hair that escaped from her bun. 

“Thank you for the reminder.” She quietly said, her joy from a few moments ago waning. 

“For the sake of the Angels.” He replied, still his eyes remained on her. Gloria glanced at his face, for once imagining him hanging in the air instead of the widow. 

“And the Lord.” She added on, a devout Christian indeed. Uneasily—though now was her chance—she walked away in silence from the man and traveled her way through the people. Gloria needed to go home, back to her mother and father, to her young siblings. There was a problem, however. She misjudged the position of the sun. Since when did it get so late? 

“For my sanity,” she whispered. “Why does my house need to be so far from town square?” 

And yet, her legs moved onward, through the alleyways and past shops, all while she greeted nosy women and friends of friends. Everyone knows each other here, and everyone is always watching. That’s the basis of this village, after all. Gloria glanced back from time to time, wanting to keep her back safe. She was on edge, and thankfully, smart enough to trust her gut. Her mission: get home quickly. 

Entering now, was she in the rows of trees that would lead her exactly there. Screw her luck. And so, she walked faster, faster, listening to the shift of leaves, the crack of branches, the howl of wind. Tilting her head upwards, she watched birds fly above. This is quite exhilarating, but she glanced behind again. Gloria’s heart stopped. There- there– far away but quite so close, a shadow watched her. She felt cold all of a sudden, her brain running, and now her feet were too. 

Do not look back, do not look back—

The path in front of her was so clear. The image of the person behind her was so clear. She felt so clear. 

But Gloria was scared, her breath uneven, painful, the tears salty. 

The head covering fell, and her hair, so black, changed brown with the quiet sunlight beaming through. Her footsteps echoed through the looming trees, as if the Church bells rang with each crunch of dead leaves. Gloria refused to panic—she screamed instead, not to celebrate the death of another, but to run away from her own.

Someone should hear her, right? Someone would help her. Someone would bring her to justice. 

No. 

Her body was found the next day, in the river next to her house, with sins unforgiven. God did not save her. Maybe this was wrath. Of the widow’s? Only the Devil knows.

The townsfolk knew enough with the state of her corpse. About how she died, I mean.