Wordtober, day 2, Mindless.
It was said among humans that those with hard tasks should not think. Nakir had never had that problem. It was bred within her, the capability to see blood as if it was rain, to cut someone open without a flutter of eyes or a shake of her hands. She was as she was and what she was was a tool, a mindless little tool used only to punish the wicked and then placed aside until such a time for her use returned. The Executioner did not even think about this matter. She was bred not to.
What a lovely job the rulers had done in their old labs. To sew a thing in a parody of a human and not leave her a shred of what a human should have had. To make something as empty, as devoid of feeling as they themselves were. They had to be proud. Monsters were always proud of their achievements.
They had bred her not to think, little mindless tool in the shape of a human. But, how had they failed to understand? The shape of the human was not just the feet and legs. They had a head and a neck and a spine, leathery skin and tokens of fur. They had a heart, as large as the world and a mind that expanded beyond borders. When they took this thing and smashed it together, they did not expect her to grip all these little remains of humanity and save them somewhere underneath her duty. Save enough of them to hesitate upon harsh words.
“I am innocent!” The child screamed at her feet, regular tears, fat and heavy rolling down her cheeks. “I did nothing wrong! Why are you hurting us?”
The blade was heavy upon her hands, barely resting upon the floor.
“They sent you here, didn’t they? They told you we were wrong! But they are the ones who bleed us dry, who cull us down when we get mouthy. Who is right and who is wrong, Executioner?”
Nakir did not think; that had been taken from her. And so the weapon was raised and the culling was performed, efficiently and safely as she had always done, uncaring of the dark blood staining her non-descript clothing, the dark blots on her shoes, the sticking feeling on her hair when she returned. She was a tool and that was all that she was. She was a tool, she was just a tool, that was all…
The Ruler looked up from the documents he had been signing directly at her, his sharp grey eyes narrowing in displeasure after being interrupted.
“Have you said anything, Executioner?”
Nakir swallowed. No, this was not the time to speak, she thought analysing the features of the creature upon whose song she danced, this man should not be trusted.
Of course she wouldn’t have. She never had before. Nakir saw these words reflected upon the Ruler’s expression as he returned to work, neither dismissing her nor ordering her upon another task. The tool should stand until she was required once more. The tool could wait. Even if the tool was thinking! Thinking how easy it would be to run, how easy it would be to flee, how easy it would be to kill him (and her heart fluttered weakly underneath her chest as if those pieces of humanity have been dislodged with her last crime(s)).
Her newfound thoughts sounded very much like the boy she had killed that morning, like his short arms were wrapped around her neck and his lips were at her ears and yes, lie, whispered the voice of the child, if they have made you a tool, I will make a human. The small soul curled invisibly around her shoulders and sneered at the man in front of them. And when I do, we will smash this world of theirs into nothing.
