Life in Paintings

Chapter 9 - Judith and her Maidservant

Chapter 9 – Judith and her Maidservant

 

 

I enter the next painting in a gasp. I’m standing and my eyes are already open.

            I don’t want to admit this but after the last painting, a small, hopeful part of me hoped that maybe I’d wake up in Gustave bed, with Gustave still sleeping beside me on the floor. A small part of me had hoped I could have gone and sit in the middle of the field again, sun on my skin. Part of me had hope the torment was over.

            But of course, it isn’t.

            “Don’t stop, keep walking,” the woman standing beside me hisses.

            I’m still wearing the dress Gustave gave me, but the woman beside me is wearing a burgundy red and gold dress that seems to come from the medieval era. And she’s holding a sword, balancing it on her shoulder.

            I’m confused. She doesn’t seem like some kind of swordswoman or a fighter for that matter, she looks like she hasn’t seen a lot of sun in her life and she’s been properly fed and improperly trained for any kind of strenuous work.

            She also looks pissed at me.

            “Keep moving,” she presses, “and don’t drop the basket!”

            I don’t understand at first but then I realize that yes, I am holding a basket, and there’s something heavy in it and…

Holy fuck, it’s a head.

I drop the basket.

“What are you doing!” the woman all but yells at me, looking around, trying to make sure no one saw what just happened.

“That’s a fucking head,” I tell her, pointing at it. It’s not some kind of Halloween props, this is a legit head. The smell alone should have clued me in.

“Of course it’s a head. Don’t you remember chopping it off just a minute ago?” she asks me, bending down and covering the head with a white cloth.

I probably missed that part of the fun. “I didn’t cut anyone’s head off,” I state. I might have held that head, but I certainly didn’t cut it.

“You did,” she presses. And she’s suddenly holding the sword in between us. I can see that there’s still come blood on it. Obviously, she wiped it after cutting off the head, but she didn’t do a perfectly thorough job.

“I didn’t,” I tell her again. After the last painting, after Gustave, I feel like I’ve rested, like I have energy again. I feel like myself. And I’m certainly not going to get bossed around by this woman. Either way, I don’t plan on making picnic plans with her, so I might as well find a way to get out of here. “And I’m not carrying a fucking head around,” I add. And I just turn around and start walking away.

“Come back here,” she yells after me, leaving the basket on the ground. “You’re my maidservant, you must obey my orders!”

I turn around and glare at her. “Yeah, no, no I don’t. I killed a Roman because he was trying to take me away. I’m certainly not going to follow around some crazy broad that’s taking a head around for a little stroll.”

“Pick up the basket,” she points back to it.

I smirk. “Make me, bitch.”

I barely have time to blink and her sword is thrust into my stomach.

My last thought before everything turns to black is that maybe antagonizing a woman that is carrying around a head wasn’t my best idea.