Bad Things Happen Bingo fill #5
Prompt: Public Torture
Requested by: @dragonheart905
Character(s): Crow
Word count: 953 “Grab him! Get the shifter!” Hands drag Crow to the ground and pin him, pushing his face into the dirt of the street. He hears jeers and yells all around him, things like shapeshifter and monster. It’s been so long since he was mocked for his other form- he’s grown accustomed to just being degraded in general. Crow tries to fight against the rough hands, blinking and coughing from the dust in his eyes and mouth, but he’s weak and exhausted already from walking all day in the hot sun. He isn’t even able to tell what they’re saying over the ringing in his ears. He had only stopped in this town to see if there was some kind of public fountain to drink some much needed water and rest his leg for a few minutes. But he had made the horrible mistake of deciding to shift into his other form and get some water ruffled in his dusty wings. It always made him feel better, but during his long years with the Collector, he had forgotten how his kind was treated outside the limits of their own people and country. And now he was paying for that. Someone pulls him to his feet, arms pinned behind him and someone else’s knee drives into his gut. He doubles over, wheezing as he gasps for the air that was just knocked out of him. A heavy punch drives into his jaw and snaps his head back against the person holding him up. “You know what we do to nasty corvid shifters like you?” The guy beating on him sneers. “We burn them, so they can’t spread around like the disease they are. That you are.” He grins cruelly at Crow’s usually emotionless face, now changing into a look of horror. “You heard me right. C’mon-” He motions to the other that have gathered around. “Let’s take it to the bonfire.” That’s when Crow really starts panicking, trying to twist and pull out of the tight grip holding him. But it’s useless and only prompts his captor to twist his arms up higher and push him along to keep moving. They come around some buildings until Crow sees a stack of old dry brush and kindling, old papers and trash. And in the center, a tall thick stake. “Look at that- that’s you end, and then there’s one less trash corvid. They laugh and Crow searches the faces in the growing crowd frantically for some sympathy, any sympathy. But he finds none. “Any last words filth? Any begging for your life? Nothing?” The leader stares down at him like he expects Crow to fall to his knees and plead to be spared. But Crow can’t do that. He just huffs frantic breaths, wide eyed with fear. “Huh. Tie him up then.” They drag Crow up on to the pile kicking and struggling and tie his arms around the post, yanking the knots tightly around his wrists. That pulls a pained gasp from Crow- his hands still twisted and healed wrong. The sun beats down on him as he struggles in the ropes, trying to get himself free of this twisted nightmare, but it’s too tight. He doesn’t want to cry, he’ll just get even more dehydrated, but he’s already heaving choked gasps, begging in his mind, please- please don’t do this, he doesn’t want to die, please no- no- He watches as they carry a lit torch over, ready to set the dry kindling ablaze. Crow knows it will burn quick, hopefully it will be fast enough so he doesn’t have to suffer long. They light it at the edge and a couple people cheer as it catches on and starts spreading, the heat making Crow dizzy and the smoke making his eyes water even more. He still struggles, trying to work his hands out of the ropes as the fire grow closer. The fire starts to lap at his feet and around his legs and it’s so hot. Crow squints in the smoke and light and tries to keep from panicking but oh gods no he’s panicking, he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die alone like this, surrounded by hate and cheering at his demise. With an agonizing wrench, Crow snaps his already injured and poorly healing wrist and his vision whites out from the pain. He barely feels the fire now, catching on to his clothes, the pain is so overwhelming. He chokes out a silent sob and keeps working his hand out. It hurts, it hurts, it burns, he’s burning- With one last tug he pulls his useless hand from the ropes and then the other. The horrible people see him, but they cant get to him. The fire is burning him anyway. Who cares if he managed to get out? Crow turns to his only last option as the fire surround him, raging and burning. The very thing that caused this might be his only saving grace. He shifts into the form of a crow and flies straight up, letting the heat carry him high. He knows he’s not going to be able to fly far, the broken hand causing a snap in one wing. But he might be able to glide. He doesn’t know where he is when he hits the ground roughly, slides to a stop in the hot dirt and shifts back, broken and covered in angry blistering burns. He doesn’t know if he’s far enough away from the town. His throat is dry and he’s coughing from inhaling the smoke. He’s not safe, but he can’t move anymore, even if he wanted to. And right now- he doesn’t even see the point in trying.
