May God Strike Me Down Dead
The sky cracked open as thunder rolled over the fields, drowning Ruth’s scream. “May God strike me down dead if I’m lying!” she shouted, her voice raw with years of silence. She stood soaked in rain and fury, eyes locked on the family gathered at the edge of the pasture. They had turned blind eyes and deaf ears for too long.
Whispers had circled for months — that Ruth was a witch, that she forged her grandfather’s will to steal her brother’s land. Murmurs rose now, quiet and cruel. Someone muttered, “She’s lied before. She’ll lie again.”
Ruth’s eyes flashed. “May God strike me down!” she cried, daring the heavens.
And the lightning listened.
It struck her where she stood.
They buried her the next day, but no one spoke her name.
Not ever again
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (2)
Eminent and well written.
Wonderfully crafted @Marie381Uk