The Highway Man
It was a dark and stormy night.
Isn’t that the most overused opening line? I mean honestly, the witches come in, and in comes the storm to rule the world. But this story does start on a dark and stormy night and ends the same way. This is not a happy story; it is not a romance, though there are some romantic points to it.So take that and leave it, or embrace the tragic romance as it is.
It was a dark and stormy night, or that is at least how I remember it. The sky was grey, not black, and the moonlight shone through the darkness and perches the floor boards, where I was hidden.
And The Highway Man came. He was on the run from the law and He only stayed the one night, but it was a night I would never forget. It’s been a hundred years and I still remember the night. There was this spark between us, and it’s something I’ve never forgotten. I have died many times over since that night, and I have always been searching for that spark again.
As meaningful as that night had been, it’s a constant reminder of what could of been and what never would be. Remember when I said this wasn’t a romance? I guess I lied. It totally is because I am in love with a man twelve years my senior and who I died protecting.
He came to us for shelter, as he’s done many times before, but this time was different. This tim he was desperate and was in a hurry. He wanted to hide. As a loyal customer of my father, my father gave him my room, saying that he would be a dead man before anyone came into his daughters room and that I would be a good distraction if anyone came looking.
So we went to bed together. I was a true women, and the love was kind and caring and sparked passion. It was romance, but it was never meant to be. That morning he handed me a ring, as if he knew ahead of time and kissed my forehead and said “I will be back with enough money to buy you from your father, and then we can be together.” For in that time women were bought and sold like cattle.
He would come for me, but not before they did. The next night, the men who killed me came. They knew, I don’t know how they knew, but they did. They took one look at me, and they bound my hands. They said “Her eyes have the devil in them. She must be put to death. He has had his way with her, so she must be cleansed before.”
And for the next day and a half after they managed to kill my father. Each of them, the kings men, bound me to my bed and had their way with me. I was numb and defeated; I was broken. And when I couldn’t fight it anymore, they built a pyre for me and tied me up naked and dirty. Then they started the fire.
Then the highwayman came riding to find me.
But it was too late.
But it was too late.
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