Sin Earth
by Jeremy C. Shipp
read by Kate Sherrod
Finding a pyramid of sticky bluebursts and a bucket of water before your doorway doesn’t necessarily mean that the villagers of Sin Earth respect you, or even like you. The act may instead imply that no one really wants to see your face outside as they’re living what my mother would call their pathetic little lives, singing and dancing and eating and sometimes carving ancient faces from spirewood that they burn right after, because otherwise the Enforcers would beat the culprits senseless with sacred clubs.
One such club rots away under the table where I set my bluebursts. Enforcer Yor gave me this weapon the day of my mother’s funeral. “She was a good woman,” he told me. “Very reliable.” Then he handed me his club, which he described in almost the same way.
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