They have eyes to see but don’t see, ears to hear but don’t hear

There was irony in their actions, like watching the blacksmith forge the blade by which he would be slain or a con man fall to his own ruse. They had helped seal their own fate, unbeknownst them; tied the knot on the rope they would hang from.

There was poetry in their doom; how every step they took drew them to the end, like the lines in a book rush to finish the story; how trying to escape just called it to them, like the song of a siren called out to a sailor; and the look on their face when they accepted it finally was like a maiden who had lived all her life thinking she is a beauty only to stand in the front of the mirror and see a beast as a reflection.

They had eyes but they refused to look, had ears but chose to be deaf. They had basked in their ignorance and drowned in their pride. They had danced to bangs of the drums of war and painted with the bloods of the dead. They had ignored the festering wounds and the consequences of their actions. For they have mocked the signs with their hubris, the gods had left them to their destiny. 

It’s a shame that they were blinded by their own hurts, that the clarity they got was only for the pain. Maybe if things were different, if they could have seen, they would have been reluctant, a little less negligent. May be they would have been better. May be fate would have been kinder. May be they would have survived. May be they would have known what they have done wrong. May be…

Even in their doom there was mercy, a tiny flicker of redemption in their gloom, a sliver of salvation. Grace had not left them yet. She was still around the corner. Waiting. Listening.  She waited to see if they would call out, If they would cry out in earnest . She had sat there in their destruction -waiting- if they would reach out for her, ready to give them her aid. She had watched them burn. She had watched them suffer. She had watched them be  crushed. Knowing in their death maybe they could be revived.

They had never bothered to see if the door was open, if it was a way out. Distracted by the horrors around them, they had missed the clues right before them. They were fighting but not to win. They were standing but they had already given up. They had welcomed their end knowing it wasn’t going away. It had become their permanent guest and they had tried to be most hospitable.

Was it twisted irony that their deliverance was hidden in plain sight, one they would definitely miss? Was it their ignorance at fault or her cruelty at play? Was it really fair? Was there really a way out from their judgment? No one knows and no one dares to wonder, but it was known to all that in those final moments Grace had wept.

They had forgotten about gods. They had forgotten about hope. They were fighting but to what end-it was never known. In their last moments her tears had rained; her wails thundered through the sky. Her sorrow and anger had hung on the air. All had gone still. Her cry was a declaration. Some thought it was the final stamp to their death sentence and some thought it was the first letter of clemency.