Lemons

Leif awoke from his uneasy slumber, the stench of rat droppings and dried blood immediately filling his nostrils. He coughed, his eyes watering for a moment before he sat up, leaning his back against the grimy stone wall behind him.

Through the small, barred window, the moonlight streamed across the concrete floor. It was the only light in this prison, apart from the candlelight flickering from beyond the space beneath the heavy locked door. Aside from the occasional squeak of rats or mice, the only sound he could hear was the sound of his own uneven breathing, and his stomach growling in hunger.

He was sure that tomorrow morning, he would be dead.

He'd heard tales of other kingdoms, of how they treated their prisoners. He'd heard stories of glorious last feasts, that the authorities would give a prisoner any food that he so wished to consume before he was to be executed. This wasn't the case in Oblus, where those on death row were fed every other day, and even then, they were only given the scraps of the guards' dinners from the night before.

It was also tradition to starve a prisoner the night before their execution. The time for dinner had long since passed, and Leif accepted his fate.

His long hair, once a bright golden blond, was now stained red with blood. Both his blood, and the blood of the rodents he'd killed as they'd scurried across his feet in the night, desperate for more than just the guards' meal scraps, decorated the floor around him, a grim reminder of what had been, and of what was to come.

Leif clutched his stomach, groaning. Its emptiness consumed him, didn't allow him to think straight. He had hoped that he may be able to die a sane man, but it appeared as if this wish would not come true. He scanned the room, hoping desperately for something, anything, to scurry within reach of his chains, so he could leave the world on a full stomach. He'd eat anything at this point: a spider, a bat, a rose, or a lemon.

He closed his eyes once again, and as he opened them, he spotted something to the right, in the far corner. It rolled of its own accord to the center of his prison, it's yellow skin shining almost painfully bright under the silver moon beams.

It was a lemon.

Unable to believe that what he was seeing was real, Leif blinked a few times, pinched himself, and held his breath. When he looked again, the lemon was still there.

It only took a moment of contemplation before he lunged forward with as much force as possible in his weak state, reaching for the fruit with outstretched arms. He could barely reach it, but still, he smiled in triumph as he cupped it in his palms, once again sinking against the cold stone wall behind him.

He rolled it between his rough, blistered hands, stroking it like a newborn kitten. It felt so real, yet, he knew that even the delusions of the mad appeared absolutely corporeal, almost like mirages in the desert. He considered ignoring the fruit, in fear of giving in to madness himself, but it only took one more growl of his stomach to convince him that real or not, he needed this lemon.

He peeled the skin away with shaky hands, throwing it on the ground beside himself. Immediately, the sweet and sour citrus smell replaced the scent of shit and death, and Leif found himself grateful for this change. He held the lemon up to his nose, the scent bringing him back to that time in the lemon grove, where he'd first met his lover, Faolan.

One of the largest lemon groves in Oblus, the grove had been rumored to bring soulmates together on the summer solstice every year. Leif, single, lonely, and twenty-eight years old, had been desperate to find his soulmate before his strength diminished and his health declined. As he had strolled along the paths within the grove under the moonlight – a full moon, just like tonight – he had noticed a man, his unruly, copper-orange hair covering one of his deep blue eyes. As they approached each other, they had slowed their strides, until they were face to face.

Leif had opened his mouth to speak, but Faolan beat him to it. "You are beautiful."

And so, Leif had met his soulmate.

The harsh laughter of the guards outside the door brought Leif back to the present, and he shook his head, splitting the lemon open. Thinking about Faolan, long dead, murdered by the triumphant rebel forces, wouldn't do him any good now. All he could do concerning Faolan was hope: hope that they might be reunited in the Otherworld, if such a world truly existed.

He took a bite out of the lemon, the sour juice stinging the miniscule cuts on his dry tongue. His eyes watered, but he continued to eat it, even as it burned a trail down his parched throat. After a month of stale bread and the occasional piece of moldy cheese, the flavorful lemon was both a gift and a curse.

The lemon, vibrant and sweet and sour all at the same time, reminded him of the life he'd never have.

It made him think back on those days when he'd sit by the fireplace with Faolan, daydreaming about their wedding. They had decided on a wedding in the forest, with a mint and cherry cake, and garments of green and gold. Faolan had said that he'd wanted a summer wedding, so that he could hear the birds singing as they exchanged their vows, a soundtrack to their love.

"So that every time I awaken next to you, the birds chirping outside our window," he'd said, his voice soft in Leif's ear, "I can be reminded of the promises that I had made to you."

Leif had missed the days when he could be open about his love for Faolan. After the rebel group had taken over the kingdom of Oblus, their love had been made illegal, the punishment death. So many families had been torn apart on that fateful day, the day when the new army had raided his village, knocking down peoples' doors, taking so many prisoner and killing all those who resisted.

His love, his bond with his soulmate, had been outlawed, just as his friend Ciara's love for her wife, Geraldine, had been outlawed. Love had not been the only victim of the new regime. No, single parents were ripped from their children, widows blamed for their spouses' untimely deaths. Groups of lovers, their hearts open enough to cherish and adore more than one person at a time, had similarly been targeted and imprisoned. The world, as the people of Oblus had known it, had changed for the worse. Faolan and Leif had only been a few of the persecuted on that fateful night, only a month before. It hadn't been so long ago, but it felt like Leif had spent ages in this prison.

Leif finished the lemon, the juice running down his chin and leaving a sticky trail, dripping onto the floor. Outside, the sun was rising, minute by minute, bringing him ever closer to his death.

In a way, he was lucky. His death would be swift, easy. He would die from a sword to the neck, unlike Faolan, who had died a painful and bloody death, bleeding out in the streets from the wounds on what had been left of his legs and right arm. He had fought, and he had paid the price. That had been the last thing that Leif had seen before the new king's men had knocked him unconscious, rendering him unable to fight back.

He shed a tear, wiping it away quickly with his rough and dirty hands. Crying would not solve anything. Crying would make him seem like a coward. He didn't want to die with a weak image. He was going to die with a defiant look on his face, his eyes clear, his head held high. He had to die this way, for Faolan.

He heard the heavy steps of the guards approaching before he heard the key being turned in the lock. The lock clicked, and the heavy door swung open, revealing a man in a brown, fabric mask, two holes cut for his eyes, one for his nose, and a slit for his mouth. The executioner had come for him.

He was lead by his chains out of the prison, into the courtyard, and lined up behind a few other men who were fated to be executed on this morning as well. One by one, the executioner swung his sword and ended their lives. Leif prepared himself.

As he was making his way up the stairs, the small audience's eyes on him, he heard a bird chirping in the woods beyond, it's voice clear and melodious. It reminded him of Faolan.

As he lowered his head onto the stone before him, he took one last look at the world.

Faolan, we shall be reunited once again.

And then there was nothing.