The Best of the Brine

"The Malice In You"

His soul burned blood red, the color of his true intentions. And he would pay for it.

He sat across from me, but did not see me. I could see him perfectly well. Actually, I saw into him, which was how he had gotten here. All around him, the air sparked and flamed in deep reds, bleeding to the floor. It was frightening to look at him, even after I had seen so many others. Of course, no one else in the room could see his soul like I did. Because I was gifted with the sight.

At an early age it had been discovered that I possessed the ability to read a person's soul. I was always right, because the soul does not lie. When I was asked to judge someone, that was usually the end of the line. No more exits, only the empty room with a pane of glass and the chair.

The man with the sickening soul had been measured and had been sent to his end.

At first, people had assumed that when I read a soul I knew what the person had done. They asked me what the man had done to deserve such a punishment. I had simply told them that they did not want to know. It was the truth. No one should know, and no one ever will.

When they brought me to him, I had known without a doubt that he would die. It only took one nod, and he had been dragged away. He did not scream. But I knew what he was inside, and that was all the people needed to know.

I stared at him through the glass as he sat upon his chair. Wires had been connected to his body, his chest rose up and down in a panicked way. His dark eyes darted around the empty room while sweat rolled down the contours of his face.

Some of the others in the room seemed uncomfortable as they shifted in their seats, waiting for his end. I sat stone-still, anticipating the jerk of the lever. What waited inside the man needed to be snuffed out. His soul needed to stop burning with such an intensity.

I watched his mouth move, forming words that no one could hear. The glass that separated us was sound proofed, for good reason. In the first years, the men used to scream things that only made the spectacle more difficult. Then the silence had been installed, and we could be peaceful in our moment of finality.

But after watching so many of them scream, I had come to learn the words their lips formed. It was better that no one could hear him, it was better they had not known what he had done.

I gave a quick nod to the man shaded in shadow in the corner who tightened his grip on the lever. The lights flickered as the sentence was carried out. Some people chose to look away, but I watched. As I always did.

As the life left his body, and his soul dissipated into nothing I couldn't help but momentarily wish I had heard his last words. "Please," he had whispered "help me."

But there couldn't be any help for a man such as him. He hadn't screamed when they had taken him away, but cried. He had never admitted to the things I knew were inside of him, because he had not known they were there.

It didn't matter that he had never laid a hand on a single person. I had seen his soul and it burned blood red, the color of his true intentions.

As they hauled his body away I watched each person get up and leave. They felt as if they had seen justice carried out. Only I knew the truth.

When I was alone in the room, sitting at its center, I stared at my reflection in the pane of glass. The air around me sizzled with black fire. It was like a void that couldn't be filled, hissing and snarling at the emptiness of the chair behind the glass.

Slowly, I opened my appointment book. My schedule was full for the day. I decided then that each one would be guilty. I was always right, because a soul never lies.

I do.



aha!