Groceries

A note of truth was heard,

Listened to,

Cared for,

Nurtured.

The Truth-Wielder drew their sword, brandished its molten edges in the glimmering luminance of the flickering firelight. Then, the steel came flashing red, searing through the thick, stagnant air, piercing through flesh and bone, burning the frothing, jeering, stench of falsehoods that had wrapped snaking, slimy fingers around the townsfolk’s hearts. Soon, the tavern floor was a mottled carpet of writhing bodies, the air permeated by moans, blackened by the myths that slunk out through the shadows.

Slowly, the air began to quieten, to lighten, the moans replaced by a quiet sobbing of guilt, the air no longer stagnant with harm, but swimming with the determination of resolution.

The man who whispered this infection of malice through the townsfolk ears and condemned them to hatred was nowhere to be seen.

Truth had started mending the injured.

The Truth-Wielder had begun to rid the town of its infestation.

______________

Saffron lowered her gaze to her crumbling bowl of foul broth, she didn’t want to consider what precisely the strangely thick substance contained. She wouldn’t be eating for weeks if she put too much thought into it.

Squeezing her thoughts into vague memories of sugar, syrup and rose-petals, the pinched her nose, scrunched her eyes and all but threw the ‘broth’ down the back of her throat.

Her eyes watered from the putridity.

In all honesty, it was actually the most stomachable ‘food’ she’d ingested in months, a whole, fresh, crisp cabbage had been discovered on their doorstep this morning. None of her family could begin to fathom who would bless them with this gift – the whole town despised them, lulled into a false depiction of the truth, and caressed into misplaced injustice by her silver-tongued father. No-one stopped to consider Saffron’s truth, to debate why a sixteen-year-old would force a keen source of income from her already impoverished home. Simple, selfish, teenage rebellion they assumed, the theory readily supported by the finely crafted syllables gracefully dancing from Saffron’s father’s wicked lips into their open ears, sabotaging the integrity of their hearts.

It made little sense to Saffron why her father was so easily believed over herself. Even with his jaw-dropping wealth of charisma, surely people would still possess the ability to spy the cracks in the fables, to discover the questions blaring themselves at them.

However, every hole, every gap left in the web of lies her father had created was easily explained away. Why hadn’t her mother just punished Saffron and welcomed the hardworking husband back in? (Easy, Saffron was a manipulative, conniving witch with too much power over her family that scared them into submission, gaslighting them into her version of events and believing life was better). Or, why were the children so scared of their own father? (Same answer as before). Nothing could be explained away with that answer, it fit so snuggly into any gap, any hole, any crevice in her father’s story, it was so easy to paint her as evil to bolster his own integrity. It wasn’t as if anyone wanted to question the answer’s repetitiveness enough anyway, you say something for long enough, and people believe it, regardless of its stupidity. Nevertheless, the lack of forethought blew Saffron’s mind, no sane human would want to put themselves in a worse situation just to hurt others if it gained them nothing.

But she supposed, according to the town, she wasn’t sane.

So then, who in the hell had sent the cabbage? It made no sense. The question maintained a residence in her mind for a day or two, but she was too preoccupied with school and life and just surviving, in general, to hold her curiosity for long.

But when a box of ripe, juicy, red apples arrived on their doorstep the next morning, Saffron’s mind forgot anything bar curiosity existed.

__________

The Truth-Wielder watched as a shape slipped a cabbage from its folds onto the Tinder’s doorstep and scuttled back down the alleyway. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, but she stifled it, the fear of a jinx preventing such delight.

When the apples materialised themselves on the doorstep though, she surrendered to her lips and caved into a smile.

______________

Saffron had never received so many smiles from the townsfolk as she did as she wandered through the marketplace the next morning, her belly full of apple stew. Her amazement shone in the newly revived twinkle in her eyes. She began to gather more stunned shock when her bronze bought her a lettuce worth two silver and it became almost overwhelming when some vendors refused payment altogether.

She ventured from the markets, arms bulging with produce and her first piece of gold ever enclosed in the tight fist of her hand. Shock was not an adequate word anymore, gratefulness did not just swell in her heart but burst from every inch of her pores, she collapsed with amazement when she stumbled through the front door of their ramshackle house.

Her mother’s eyes shone with tears; her sibling’s faces sung in golden glee at the sight of the haul.

None of them could believe their eyes.

Saffron’s mind was no longer being just dribbled on by confusion, it was entirely and utterly ravaged by it.

_________________

The Truth-Wielder hadn’t once spotted Saffron’s father since the night of vanquishing. The Truth-Wielder took this as a good sign.

The Truth-Wielder would catch one of the townsfolk glare or scour in the direction of a swinging door or rustle of bushes, or mutter insults at an oddly shaped shadow every so often, but not once did the Truth-Wielder see the man.

The Truth-Wielder was satisfied their job was complete, the townsfolk were righting their wrongs, defeating the falsities, the evil, themselves.

The truth was firmly cemented.

_____________________

A dainty hand was spied slipping a few coins into the Tinder’s letterbox one morning, the next, a bag of outgrown clothes placed on the doorstep by a pair of withered green eyes. The gifts and food kept steadily arriving, never again on the level of the marketplace, but the townsfolk did what they could, the guilt ebbing from their conscience and the acknowledgment of truth wedging itself into their lives. Saffron and her family could not have been more grateful, the exhaustion started to slink away, the house transforming from dilapidated to comfortable, their clothes no longer hanging off them in tatters but fitting snuggly and warmly.

The determination to give back and spread this kindness rooted itself in the souls of the Tinder’s, their pessimism permanently switched to optimism.

An apology even arrived one evening, on behalf of the town, they wished to acknowledge their past misgivings and attempt to right the wrongs set forth by the misinformation they had received and their severe misjudgement, about how the truth had freed them.

As Saffron sat by the warmth of the kitchen fireplace reading this, she came to the comforting realisation that she hadn’t seen her father in at least a moon. The final weight slipped off her shoulders along with the confusion wilting away as the letter made sense of the strange kindness.

A sigh escaped and a smile worked its way onto her face.

The truth had saved Saffron

It had saved her family

The truth saved the town

Small acts of kindness combined with open ears and hearts are never to be taken for granted or dismissed for something grander.