For them, it was all about waiting for the opportune moment. It wasn’t until the town grew sick that it all started. They swore that many just died of an unknown epidemic but conveniently the disease never spread to the elite. At the time there were rumours from our kind that they had caused it, but people who spoke up found themselves at deaths door all too quickly. The elite became especially sick and twisted in the mind, never in their precious and sheltered lives had they seen so much destruction caused by death. It became too far out of their control. That’s when the Order was formed. Professionals of all kinds there to carry out what the elite started. Its only purpose; kill, cover and blame. They said that our blood was infested with disease and one touch could and would, without doubt, spread lethal poison throughout any “pure” person’s veins. It was all lies.  For the most part, the town was fed on lies and the people – the desirable, middle class folk – were starving, ravenous even, for them. Until that one day, when the whispers began and we started to see the elite for the fakes that they really were. As fake as their omnipotent claim to govern our land, and the pretence that the dark colour of their skin make them eternally righteous.

From the shadows I could see the main attraction that had been resurrected a long time ago, when all this blood shed had begun. Hanging had become a daily occurrence at the start. It was just a few killings a day to begin with; a way to rid the town of the undesirable but once the numbers had started to mount, shooting was easier. The gallows, now only saved for the most worthy of criminals, for those who spoke of a new beginning and a world without injustice – a revolution. It was hard to miss the gallows, and that was the intention. They stood tall and proud, like a beastly giant from a fairy-tale, surveying the land for its next victim. They were used to create a scene, a way to humiliate and belittle our attempts of breaking free from the elite’s oppressive grasp. They justified it by saying that they were carrying out the work of God. In other words, they were creating an Aryan race. It was a perk for the Order; the executions had turned into a way to quench their blood thirsty nature.

I looked away from the gallows; one quick glance was enough to make you sick to your stomach. The Order had broad grins across their faces, resembling a Cheshire cat. It was all a game to them, something to be enjoyed. They were all monsters, those men and women.  By this time, more people had filtered into the town square. Most of the people had come out to watch for fear but there were a few. A few people left, who had passed on whispers. Whispers that had been undetected by the Order, of a better tomorrow, where the sun would shine. A scrawny young figure now took the stage on the platform of the gallows, his tattered clothes hanging from his frame, the noose now secured tightly around his neck. He looked no more than six summers of age. As the hangman readied to pull the lever, the clouds parted suddenly and the sun shone down, illuminating the boy’s pale white skin. The sun held its gaze upon the boy for as long as possible, fighting off the foreboding thunder that crackled with delirium as though there was a battle of the Gods. A small spring breeze passed throughout the town square and the Order shuddered. Just as soon as the sun had arrived, it disappeared again. A fury of lightening was heard in the distance. Then the boy dropped. The Order stood then, scanning the crowd with a fearful look in their eyes. They knew, just as we did, that in just those few seconds, hope was restored. Hope that together, we could fight, and escape the shackles of the elite. They had gone too far this time, for a young boy had no reason to now be hanging, dead. Every thought of our kind, in the square became one. If it was a revolution they were afraid of, it was revolution they were going to get.