"Monster! Monster! He killed our children!"
"Get him! Don't let him escape!"
Dozens of angry voices collided in the cold air as villagers chased a single boy through the muddy streets. Doors swung open, lights flickered, and more people joined the shouting without even knowing why.
The boy ran barefoot, lungs burning, legs trembling. He didn't understand any of this, not the accusations, not the anger, not the reason he was suddenly everyone's enemy.
"I didn't do anything!" he cried, stumbling over loose stones. "Please, stop! I don't know what you're talking about!"
But once a mob believed something, the truth no longer mattered.
"Liar!"
"Where are our children?"
"You'll pay for this!"
He turned a corner, trying to slip into an alley, when a rock flew from somewhere behind him. It struck his leg with enough force to knock him off balance. His body hit the ground awkwardly, dirt splashing up around him.
His leg buckled underneath him, a sharp pain shooting up from the shin. Looking down, he saw blood pooling around a deep gash, a jagged cut, torn open by the rough stone. His pant leg was soaked in dark crimson, mud mixing with blood, the wound already swelling and turning a sickly purple around the edges.
Before he could push himself up, shadows crowded over him. People surrounded him from every side, loud, shaking with fear and anger. The boy covered his head as they pulled and shoved him, their frustration pouring out in a chaotic storm. His knee was scraped raw, skin torn and bleeding, and his other leg bore the brunt of the fall, bruised and scraped from the rough stones and dirt.
He was battered, his face scratched and bloody, a cut above his eyebrow oozing blood into his eye, blurring his vision. His arms and shoulders bore bruises from the thrashing, and his ribs ached painfully from the punches and kicks. Blood dripped from his battered lips, mixing with the rain.
He couldn't make out what was happening anymore; everything blurred together into noise, fear, and panic.
And then, as quickly as it had started, the fury died down.
The mob stepped back one by one, their breathing heavy. Some whispered curses, others simply turned away, unwilling to look at what they had done. Rain began to fall, light at first, then steady. The villagers vanished into the darkness of their homes, leaving the boy alone in the open street.
He lay still, dazed and exhausted, the world spinning slowly around him. The rain was cold but strangely, comforting — like it was washing away the chaos. His clothes were torn and muddy, his skin battered and bloodied, the pain throbbing in every inch of his body.
Then… another sound entered the quiet.
Footsteps — slow, steady, and deliberate.
An umbrella appeared above him, blocking the rain. A tall man stood there, dressed neatly despite the storm, moving with an unsettling calmness. He crouched beside the boy, his face impossible to read in the dim light.
The boy swallowed, voice trembling.
"Y-you… you did it," he whispered. "You killed them…"
The man smiled faintly, not amused, not angry, just… cold.
He leaned in close. The boy could see the slight tremor of his hand as he reached out, then the glint of the umbrella's tip reflecting in the faint light.
"I… I saw everything," he managed to whisper, trembling.
"You… you were with her. I saw you… doing it."
The man's expression did not flicker; he only looked and smiled. His eyes showed no sign of fear or nervousness.
The boy, summoning a flicker of defiance amid his pain, looked up at the man and said softly:
"I would have said nothing to the people."
The man in the black suit looked down at him, a faint, cold smile curling on his lips.
"Only a dead man can't speak," he whispered, his voice like ice, and then slowly turned and walked away into the rain.
The boy's eyes widened further, blood pooling from his battered lips. His body shuddered, blood still oozing from the cuts on his face, arms, and legs. His breaths grew shallow and uneven, each one a struggle.
His eyes drifted upward, watching the storm clouds move slowly across the sky. His chest felt heavy, and his breath came in short, painful gasps.
"Fate is so cruel," he whispered, voice trembling. "So cruel… I'm still a virgin… I've never done anything wrong… yet I'm the one blamed."
His voice softened to almost nothing.
"Fate only sides with the rich… never the poor…"
His eyelids fluttered, bloodstained and heavy, as exhaustion overtook him. The rain continued to fall, washing away the chaos and pain, until silence reigned in the empty street.