Begging

• Helena Farley, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2022

“Please,” she hissed. Begging came easily to her now. “Please, Caspian. Remember all we’ve had. All we’ve been. Don’t do this to us.” The words spilled from her lips as blood would spill from a wound – each drop draining her, each hour untreated drawing closer and closer to infection. She could feel the noose digging into her flesh, but when she reached up to feel it, to pull it away before it cut her skin, her fingers collided with nothing. Because the noose was on her inside, tightening rapidly around her thrumming heart. And it was the boy standing in front of her who held the rope.
At the age of eighteen, this boy was still on the brink of being a child. Yet to anyone else, he was the image of a perfect prince. A charming smile, blazing eyes. However, this girl didn’t have to look closely to know that his smile never quite reached his darkened eyes. Not because she could see more than anyone else. Simple because she was the only one who bothered to look.
“Don’t,” she pleaded again, this time through diamond droplets of tears. It was a wonder there were any tears left in her to cry.
“Clarissa, I have to.” He wouldn’t look into her eyes, wouldn’t give her hope where there was none. “I’m sorry.” The words came out in choked sobs. “I’m sorry, Clar.”
The girl – the thief – looked into Caspian’s eyes. She’d spent too long staring into them, memorizing their colours and spots. She knew this day would come. She was a criminal, and there was only one punishment for criminals. Yet somehow, she had begun to hope that the prince could save her, like he did every other time. Like they did in the fairy tales.
“You don’t have to,” she said. Her fingers found his wrists, and her eyes found his lips. What she would give to feel them, just one last time. A goodbye.
“I do, Clar.” Again, his words broke over his sobs. “For the kingdom. We can’t lose them over this.”
“This isn’t their decision.”
“But my father, Clar.”
His father. The King. If Caspian let her live, it would cost him his throne, his whole future. And yet, as selfish as it was, it was her dying wish that he would give it all up. For her.
“I can’t.” He held a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle another cry. His eyes closed briefly as he held out the iron shackles, willing her to slip them on herself. He couldn’t watch him lock her up, couldn’t watch himself hand the girl he loved to die. Yet he didn’t tremble as he slipped the chains over her wrists, her ankles. This was justice.
And yet as he nudged her towards her fate, he could only wish that he had a choice. Could only wish that in another life, in a life where he wasn’t a prince, he could’ve said goodbye. He could’ve chosen her.