The Trial

first new story in a while

             I remember when you gave me this. It was the second to last day before I left for school, and we were saying goodbye. Nobody else was on the boardwalk that afternoon except for a couple elderly couples and a sunburned woman with several young children. We sat down on the pile of sand that had completely covered the park bench when the hurricane hit, and you found a piece of sea glass among the debris that had washed up. You gave it to me right after you finished telling me how much you hated your boyfriend’s new tattoo, and said I could look at the smoky green glass and remember you by it. It was the only time we ever exchanged a gift between us.

            The water is finally boiling and the bubbles are rattling the giant pot, and it rumbles back and forth on the steel grill like an iron earthquake. I jump down off the counter and approach the stove. It was time. I glance at my phone, and reread the text that had put me in this predicament one more time. As always, she gave no explanation for what had happened. She just said “Hey…miss you. I think of you every time i see a grossly underage girl with DSLs :]”, like nothing was wrong, like we’ve been talking for the past month, like she hadn’t left me twice before this text.

            So just like I’ve done the past two times, I tossed the sea glass into the boiling water. We had learned about this in high school. The ancient Germanic tribes had used a system of justice called “trial by ordeal”, in which a person whose innocence was questioned would be put in physical peril. If they were innocent, they would be saved by divine providence. I can’t make this decision myself, so I’m leaving it up to whatever god is watching.

            I reach my hand over the boiling water, flinching slightly whenever a bubble pops and sprays my apprehensive hand with scalding drops of water. At the very least, I reason, I know it didn’t hurt the past two times. I plunge.

            My hand hurts, but I can overlook it. The water is very hot, but I can take it. My hand frantically gropes around the bottom of the pot. The metal floor I press against is even hotter than the water, but I can take it. I have to be able to take it. My fingers find the glass and crasp it, and I pull my arm out of the pot. It is red, and overly warm, but otherwise unharmed. Again. This must be divine providence. I’m a little glad that it turned out like this.

            So I reply to you, like normal, like nothing happened, like I never threatened to kill you. Now I enter the second phase of my ritual. I retrieve a mug from the cabinet. I glance down at my phone, but you haven’t responded yet. I dip the mug into the pot and scoop up a cupful of boiling water. I glance down at my phone but you haven’t responded yet. I jump up on the counter and lean back against the cabinets, getting comfortable. I glance down at my phone, but you haven’t responded yet. I take a sip of the water, it feels like acid ripping digestively through my tongue, consuming it in a painful orgy of viral evil, and it feels like that all the way down my throat. I glance down at my phone, but you haven’t responded yet. I take a sip of the water, it feels like acid ripping digestively through my tongue, consuming it in a painful orgy of viral evil, and it feels like that all the way down my throat. I glance down at my phone, but you haven’t responded yet.

Reviews

[Shellie]

I really love the style of this.I just enjoyed the whole lot, it was very very well written!