Fausse Croyance-Part 1

                                                                                                                                                                                        

-LittleFawn

(Note: All the events occurring in story are fictional and does not relate to any real events )

(A Tale of Shadows and Sacrifice)

The searing sun bore down on the dusty streets of the small Wild West town, its market sparsely populated with weathered townsfolk. Amid the heat, Aaron, the local biscuit seller, roamed the stalls with his basket of hard, crumbly biscuits. His call echoed through the market, but few paid attention in the oppressive weather.

A little girl with mischievous eyes darted from behind a cart, pretending to trip near Aaron's basket. As Aaron bent to check on her, a boy with nimble feet shot out of nowhere, grabbed a handful of biscuits, and bolted.

“Hey!” Aaron yelled, beginning to chase them. But then he stopped, a knowing smile spreading across his face. "You brats! If you wanted some, you could’ve just asked. Annie’s going to scold you for this, Lamb and Fawn."

The children laughed as they ran. Fawn shouted back, "Sorry, Aaron! Please don’t tell Annie! We just wanted to have some fun. See you later!"

Aaron shook his head, amused, and watched as they disappeared into the heat-hazed horizon.

Lamb and Fawn, two of the town’s many orphans, lived with other abandoned children in an old, creaky horse stable at the edge of town. There was no orphanage, no official shelter. The town’s saloon owner, Annie, and Aaron did what little they could, providing food and occasional care for the children.

But the town itself was under unique rule. The law here wasn’t enforced by sheriffs or deputies. It was the mafias who governed. The Godfather, a man of near-mythical authority, ruled with an iron hand, passing down decrees through his son, the Boss, and the Boss's advisor—the Consigliere. Though the mafias were feared, they maintained an eerie semblance of order. Their word was law, and no one dared defy them.

As Lamb and Fawn ran, laughing and crunching on their stolen biscuits, they collided with a tall, grim-faced man.

“Oh no,” Lamb whispered. “It’s the Consigliere.”

The Consigliere’s face twisted in disgust. "Watch where you’re going, you little insects," he hissed, brushing dirt from his fine suit. "It’s bad enough the Boss tolerates you street rats infesting this town. Just stay out of my sight."

Lamb’s shoulders drooped, shame washing over him. Fawn, undeterred, stuck his tongue out. "Whatever, grumpy old man!" he teased before grabbing Lamb’s hand and sprinting away.

The Consigliere spat on the ground, muttering curses as he walked off toward the Boss’s mansion.

Inside the grand mansion, the air was heavy with sorrow. The Godfather lay on his deathbed, his breathing shallow, his powerful presence diminished to fragility. The Boss sat by his side, gripping his father’s hand tightly.

The Consigliere entered, bowing respectfully.

The Godfather’s eyes flickered open, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Son... the town... its order. Protect it. Maintain it. You are the law now."

With those final words, the Godfather’s grip slackened, and his life ebbed away.

The news of his passing swept through the town, and grief rippled among the people. He had been a ruler, a protector, and a shadowy figure who kept chaos at bay.

The mourning was interrupted by dire news. A soldier arrived at the mansion, his face pale. "Boss, I hate to disturb you, but there’s a problem."

"What problem?" the Boss demanded, his voice weary but firm.

"We’ve discovered an illness spreading among the adults. Thick, black vein-like marks appear on their skin, and they’re constantly scratching themselves as if possessed. It’s spreading fast."

Panic flickered in the Boss’s eyes, but the Consigliere placed a calming hand on his shoulder. "We’ll handle this. I’ll consult Dr. Bill immediately."

Dr. Bill, the town’s only doctor and a brilliant researcher, was already aware of the disease. “There are twenty-seven patients so far,” he told the soldier when approached. “It only affects adults; children seem to be immune. I’m working on a cure, but I need time. Tell the Boss to stay cautious. We can’t lose him now that the Godfather is gone.”

The report reached the Consigliere, but he chose to withhold the details from the Boss, deciding he wasn’t ready to face more pressure.

Days turned into weeks, and the disease spread like wildfire. Every adult in town bore the dark marks, their hands raw from endless scratching. Dr. Bill worked tirelessly but had yet to find a cure.

The Consigliere, consumed by frustration, began to fixate on the immunity of the children. His disdain for the orphans deepened into hatred. "Why should those street urchins remain untouched while the rest of us suffer?"

Driven by bitterness, he devised a sinister plan.

Lamb and Fawn, oblivious to the brewing danger, returned to their stable. Along the way, they passed adults clawing at their skin in desperation. When they reached home, they shared Aaron’s biscuits with the other children, offering what little comfort they could.

Back at the mansion, the Consigliere entered the dimly lit study where the Boss sat, his face lined with exhaustion. The weight of his father's death and the town's suffering had drained him, leaving him hollow and unsure. The Consigliere bowed slightly, his expression grave.

“Boss,” he began, his voice low and deliberate, “I bring the solution to end this nightmare.”

The Boss turned toward him, his brows furrowing. “Solution? What solution? Dr. Bill hasn’t sent any new findings.”

The Consigliere’s face darkened, and he spoke with a calculated tremble, as though the words were difficult to say. “Dr. Bill... he came to me in a dream. A vision, Boss. He told me there’s only one way to stop this plague—one way to save us all.” He paused, letting the suspense hang in the air. “We must offer a sacrifice. Fourteen children must be given to appease the curse.”

The Boss froze, his mind reeling. For a moment, he wondered if he’d misheard. “Sacrifice?” he said, his voice barely a whisper. The word felt foreign and vile, clawing at the edges of his mind. “What kind of madness are you talking about?”

The Consigliere stepped closer, lowering his voice as though to confide a terrible secret. “This disease—this curse—it isn’t natural. It’s a punishment. Dr. Bill himself revealed this truth to me. If we don’t act, everyone will die. You saw the state of the town yourself. People scratching themselves to the bone, collapsing in agony. How long do you think we have? A week? Days?”

The Boss clenched his fists, his breath uneven. His thoughts raced, colliding and tangling like a stampede in his mind. Children? He wants to sacrifice children? Is this truly the only way? His conscience screamed at him, but then he saw flashes of the suffering outside—the villagers wailing, the black veins creeping like vines across their skin. What if the Consigliere was right? What if doing nothing led to the complete collapse of the town? Was this his first test as the new leader? Would his father have made the same call?

“This… this can’t be the only way,” the Boss murmured, his voice cracking under the strain of disbelief. “There must be another solution. Maybe Dr. Bill—”

“Dr. Bill is dead,” the Consigliere interrupted sharply. “You heard the report. There’s no one else who can help us now. This isn’t just about leadership; it’s about survival. It’s about preserving the town, your legacy, your father’s work. Are you prepared to let all of that crumble just because you’re too afraid to make the hard choices?”

The Boss felt a wave of anger and revulsion surge through him. He grabbed the Consigliere’s collar, pulling him close, his eyes blazing with rage. “You’re asking me to kill innocent children,” he hissed. “Do you even hear yourself? Do you even understand what you’re saying?”

The Consigliere didn’t flinch. Instead, he met the Boss’s gaze with cold resolve. “Yes, I do,” he said. “And you need to understand that being a leader isn’t about doing what feels right. It’s about doing what must be done.”

The Boss shoved him back, pacing the room as his hands raked through his hair. His thoughts spiraled deeper into despair. What kind of leader am I if I agree to this? What kind of leader am I if I don’t? He thought of his father’s dying words: Protect the town. Maintain the system.

“Is there truly no other way?” the Boss finally asked, his voice heavy with defeat.

The Consigliere nodded solemnly, though a faint glimmer of satisfaction flickered in his eyes. “None, Boss. Time is running out. You must decide.”

The Boss, still reeling from the grief of his father’s passing, was in no state to think clearly. The weight of his newfound responsibilities bore down on him like an iron shroud, clouding his judgment. His emotions, raw and unsteady, left him vulnerable—unsure of himself and desperate for answers. In his fragile state, he found himself leaning on the Consigliere more than he normally would, trusting the man’s experience and counsel without properly scrutinizing his intentions.

The Consigliere’s plan, though extreme, slithered into the Boss's mind like a poisonous whisper, feeding on his desperation and clouding his reasoning. It wasn’t that the Boss agreed wholeheartedly; it was that he lacked the clarity to question it. Weighed down by sorrow and the pressing urgency of the town’s suffering, he considered the plan without the critical thought such a grave decision deserved. At that moment, his mind was not his own—it was a battlefield of grief, fear, and responsibility.

The Boss turned away, staring out the window at the vast expanse of the town. He thought of the people he’d sworn to protect, of the faces he’d seen looking to him for salvation. The air around him felt suffocating, and yet, in that moment, he made his choice.

“Prepare everything,” he said, his tone distant and hollow.

The Consigliere bowed and left the room, a small, victorious smirk creeping across his face as the door closed behind him.

Dr. Bill, however, had finally found the cure—a breakthrough that could save the town. With trembling hands, he had secured his notes and was rushing to deliver the news. But he never made it. As his carriage rolled down the dark, dusty road toward the mansion, an explosion shattered the night. Flames devoured the wreckage, silencing the doctor’s discovery forever. The Consigliere’s plan had left no room for interference.

That same night, soldiers descended on the stable like wolves in the dark. Lamb, Fawn, and the other orphans were startled awake by the clang of boots and harsh commands. Their cries echoed through the empty streets as the soldiers dragged them out, small hands clutching in vain at the splintered wood of their makeshift home.

The next morning, the town square brimmed with uneasy murmurs. A suffocating tension hung in the sweltering air. At the center stood a single guillotine, its blade gleaming under the unforgiving sun. Soldiers flanked the stage, their stoic faces a grim contrast to the fear emanating from the gathered townsfolk.

The Consigliere stepped forward, his posture commanding and his voice heavy with false gravitas. “Our beloved Dr. Bill has departed this world, but before his tragic end, he shared a final truth with me—a cure to this wretched plague.” He paused, scanning the crowd. “It requires a great sacrifice. A blood price to cleanse our town.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd as the soldiers brought forth the children, bound and wide-eyed with terror. Lamb and Fawn stumbled forward, their faces pale, their small frames trembling as the full weight of their fate bore down on them.

The crowd erupted into whispers of shock and disbelief. “Children?” someone shouted, their voice breaking the tense silence. Others began to murmur, their fear warring with their conscience.

Lamb clenched his fists, looking to Fawn, who tried to meet his gaze with trembling courage. But even the bravest smile couldn’t hide the tears streaking her cheeks.

The Consigliere raised his hands to silence the unrest. “This is not an easy choice, but it is a necessary one. The disease spares no adult. Only the blood of innocence can end this curse.”

The Boss stood nearby, his face a storm of inner torment. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten, his mind a tangled mess of grief, doubt, and despair. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched the Consigliere’s charade unfold. Each word cut deeper into his conscience, but he felt paralyzed, bound by his trust in his advisor and the unbearable weight of leadership.

The Consigliere turned to the executioner and gave a solemn nod. The blade shimmered ominously as it was raised into position. The first child was led forward.

Lamb’s breath caught, and he squeezed Fawn’s hand as the crowd fell deathly silent. Time seemed to stretch unbearably as the blade hung above, its descent inevitable.

To be continued…..

(Part 2 coming next week.)