A Deal With The Cold Beast

"P-please, I'm begging you, let my baby live! Have mercy on us!"

A desperate cry pierce through the silent night. The forlorn plea sounded like a muffled groan in the deserted street, blending pitifully with the wind. The usually proud moon was nowhere to be seen, as if hiding from the horrendous cruelty underneath it. Too ashamed to even peek over.

The veil of darkness has long descended into the chilly passage that was narrow enough to fit at least five grown-up men like sandwiches. An unassuming candy wrapper following the tide in the air, curiously venture inside the alley.  Pursuing the bitter weeps which was from a feminine lip. 

"I'm doing you a favor, Crisanta. This is the only way to cleanse your soul from your sins."

The gruff voice of a man ruthlessly voiced his own judgement, cutting whatever hope the woman in front of him has.

A bitter smile drew to the woman's ashen chap lips. Her heart was pounding loudly inside her rib cage. Every drag of air to fill her lungs, hurts. It was as if every time she does, a new bunch of needles will eagerly stab her lungs, turning her breath labored. And the rest of her body doesn't feel any better.

The night that became the wick of her life flash before her eyes, for the ninth time. It was an endless reminder; that once in Crisanta's life she tasted how sweet a freedom could be. And she refuse to forget and repent about it.

A night nobody ever anticipated to happen. A night of mistake, indulgence and heat. How many weeks had passed since that night again? One? Two? Three? Four? She actually lost count.

For the first time in her life, Crisanta feels a strong urge to scream profanities to the man before her. 

Everything seems so absurd to her. What does he mean by 'cleanse her soul'? 

In this world soul cleansing was only performed by the monks up in the Northern mountain. Her family nor the person before her, was a monk. 

The whole area was dark. The moon hides with the stars in the sky, as if mourning with the whimper of her helpless heart. Only a few lamp post illuminates their faces albeit some were shrouded into the sinister darkness. 

As if sensing her silent rebellion, the man roared, "That thing inside of your womb is forbidden! It is a dirty sin! Crisanta, allow us to help you set things right!"

The irritating shout thundered around. The man's voice contained endless fury and a hint of reproaching, making the woman's blood run cold.

Another stab of disappointment landed on her wounded heart.

Why must they act so cold blooded?

'I have committed a sin. Yet, funny how I dare to protest against their means. Maybe I am just being selfish, and acting immature, regardless never will my dignity concede with their verdict to salvage our family's dignity. My heart refuse to allow me. What can I do?'

Crisanta's bitter sentiment impede her screaming aching flesh from being recognize. 

What she committed was a great shame, dishonorable and frowned upon in their ancestors book. It made no wonder why her first adjudicator was her own kin. 

Yet a dangerous inkling kept her heart pounding uncomfortably. Her mind never felt this clear before.

Fate has already carved a rough path for her, unabashed if the person involved was willing or otherwise.

The horrible smells of rotten biodegradable materials mixed with the awful smell of junk wafted through the air. The surrounding is damp and dirty. Not far from where the woman lay, solemnly stood seven men covered in thick pitch black cloak.

Their identities remained hidden except for the man who remain five steps away from them. While a condescending frown was etched upon his brows looking down at the sorry state of the woman before his leather shoes.

Unbeknownst to them the same man had his palms fisted behind his cloak. Hiding the complicated feeling in his resolute eyes; unflinching and beyond determined. It was unknown what he was truly thinking.

Under their collective gaze Crisanta lowered her head, her long lashes perfectly concealed the slowly dying hope within her orbs. 

The woman was covered with dirty and rip apparel. While her skin was disguised with cuts and bruises. With a deep cut on her thin right arm, ghastly drops of red liquid flows, trailing her once smooth skin into the damp dirt road as they conceal themselves into the welcoming soil. 

The woman's silvery-white hair was a mess, as if portraying her current dire situation.

Her fingers subconsciously made a gentle stroke against her belly. The familiar yet unfamiliar bulge feels strange underneath her touch. However, that same reason weaves her courage to struggle for her life. She needs to fight till the end; she has to.

'Even if it means risking everything, I will never hesitate to fight.' 

Glistening salty liquid cascaded down her lashes, like a dam who has its seal broke, it shamelessly falls. Leaving trails of sadness against her pale cheeks. 

Indeed, tears are like sweat, both drips down only when you're tired enough.