// civi's 1oo scene challenge //

[abeille]

xx
xx
xx

xx
xxxxxxxx

thatcher && connorxxxxx1767xxxxxmajor character death, au
xx

xx

they knew. he should have never underestimated their intelligence because now he'd have to pay the price. he would've been smart to pack up and leave town when he had the chance. but now? he was as good as dead. and this should have worried him, but death hadn't bothered him in a very long time.
panicked, he rummaged through the few belongings he had, desperate to find the letter. he had to find the letter, connor needed to read it. then he would understand that in the end, none of this treachery would matter. clothing and sheets littered the tiny home's floors and his desperation grew as with each overturned bit of furniture, all he found was empty space. nothing he needed.
outside the atmosphere shifted, and he could feel the ground tremble as anger and misplaced betrayal engulfed the small town of salem, massachusetts. the approaching mob of townspeople wielded lanterns and pitch forks, a nightmare thatcher never thought he'd be around long enough to live. he grew up with these men and woman. he'd gone to church with them, helped them build the town they all collectively called home. and for gods sake, he'd come over to the new world with them.
but now, one small brat breathes word of witch craft overcoming their little community and everyone becomes bitter. he watched silently, connor by his side, as the upper class, righteous men of their society allowed ignorant little girls to point fingers and accusations while thrashing around like fish out of water; as if that was some how proof of their torment. it was ridiculous, and while they weren't totally wrong, they were completely out of hand. what town allows their children to murder their brothers and sisters?
thatcher had been safe. no one had suspected anything of him, other than his blatant homosexuality. and then bloody ann putnam caught sight of him warding his home. he'd run, absolutely terrified at the time over losing the first true period of happiness he'd been allowed with connor. he didn't want to die yet, but he knew death could not vanquish his love. so he'd returned to town, where his actions had only fueled their need for violence.
it was as if someone had poured brackish ice water down his back the instant he heard the wooden entrance to his home slam inward. he hadn't found the letter, and connor was in the neighboring town trying to bargain for eggs and butter because they'd run out. but now thatcher was out of time. he tried not to think of what that meant for connor.
"halt there, ye spawn of the devil. we have no accommodations here for those who torment wayward souls and hide behind the mask of god's finest creation." his neighbor spit furiously, signaling the men that accompanied him to converge upon the innocent young witch.
they were rough and careless, grabbing him by the hair in order to forcefully push him to his knees. rope captured his wrists, binding them to each other the same way rope was pressed into his mouth, impairing his ability to speak or effectively spell cast.
"as chief magistrate of salem, i condemn you to death, young thatcher matthais corwin, for ye unfaithful practices, immoral life style, and copious deception. burn in hell devil's child." thatcher struggled miserably as the dragged his body against the cold, dirt streets and into the town square. they had already prepared a stake with kindling for his exhibition and burning. and well, wasn't that a new one? thatcher had never burned to a crisp before.
they strung him up with no grace, the same way a butcher hung meat awaiting purchase in his shop. his fight for freedom deteriorated when it really hit him that this was all happening. he was going to die, but at least this time connor wouldn't be there to see it.
heat exploded beneath him, flames dancing into existence, grasping for his legs and torso. the noise that left his mouth was guttural, absolutely feral around the rope there. thatcher had been drowned, blown to bits, suffocated underground, but burning really took the cake. the pain was indescribable, he writhed against his bindings.
his struggle renewed as he tried to escape the way his skin melted into bright heat. he slowly faded in and out of consciousness, eager to to be freed of his torture. he could tell when he'd reached his breaking point, as fire engulfed his chest. tears poured from his eyes, not because he was afraid, but because the smoke was unbearable. his breathing had been reduced to ugly gulps that caught flames and ash. so he closed his eyes and tried his best to give in.
he'd almost missed the painful cries of connor as he broke through the crowd surrounding thatcher, shouted sweet nothings.
"thatcher no!" he cried, "thatcher please, i love you, thatcher!" thatcher didn't watch as the towns people restrained his love, preventing him from diving to his death beside the witch.
thatcher hoped he'd find the letter.

a young man, around the age of seventeen awoke in a cold sweat, grasping his bed sheets as smoke filled his lungs choking him. only there was no smoke, the boy had been dreaming. no, not dreaming. remembering. something he'd done often since his sixth birthday. the memories came without warning, all either horrifying recounts of his or connor's deaths, or heartbreaking moments which he knew he could never relive, or at least not in this life.
because thatcher had spent forever searching for connor the best he could, but he was a minor with a family in the twenty-first century and he didn't have much say in matters concerning his life. unbelievably though, he'd still found connor. as tall and handsome as ever, the same blue green galaxies for eyes. he'd first seen him in this life while browsing through the grocery store with his mother. he didn't know the face of a stranger could be so familiar. so beautiful.
he soon learned they'd both been born in the same small town, something that absolutely never happened. when they'd begged a witch to tie their souls together for the rest of eternity, through all of time and space, she had agreed, though with a price. or rules, if you will.
first, in each life, only one of them was able to remember the events of their past selves. of their time together in other lives. the damn cliche wrench made it that way, until of course the 'secured' their love and reconnected their souls. basically, they had to kiss. second, they were never together. they were always alone, apart. they had to work for it, for each others company. in some lives, they didn't even meet before the other was dead. it was terribly frustrating. lastly, there was almost always something inhibiting them from being together. because fate didn't like to be tampered with, and thatcher and connor had surely done more than just that.
so of course there was a catch when thatcher discovered their birth proximity.
in this life, as they both grew, thatcher came to learn that connor was straight, and already in love. so thatcher hung back, because he wanted the only other person who could ever hold his soul, to be happy. but it didn't sit well in his gut. it was as though someone had pried his chest open with pliers and ripped out everything they could find.
it felt the same way it did when you bought a new shirt which you'd fallen in love with, but the tags dragged across the skin of your neck, and there was nothing you could do to escape the irritation because those tags had the only directions you needed in order to put it through the washing machine. there was nothing thatcher could do. but he didn't think it could get any worse.
he should've known.

"if you'd just listen to me i can explain! i swear i'm not stalking you!" the younger panted, trying to catch up to connor's fleeing frame.
"no."
"no!?!" thatcher cried in outrage, "why wont you listen to me!"
"because, i don't know who you are! there's no logical answer to you knowing the name of my grandmother who passed away twenty years ago other than you stalking me. " connor huffed, turning to face the boy behind him, "now, if you were smart you'd get the hell away from me before i call the cops."
"don't know me!?! i've gone to school with you since junior high!" he said putting emphasis on the junior high, even though he knew connor knew more about thatcher than he realized. this was going way worse than he'd planned, but thatcher's nightmares of past memories had been getting worse, and connor had broken up with paige about a month ago. this could be the only opportunity he ever got in this life.
"and go ahead! call the cops! they won't do much." he grumbled, stopping to face his shoes. his father was 'the law', everyone who knew his last name knew that. sheriff corwin was somewhat of a town celebrity.
"i doubt that. there are laws against following people around like a freak."
"okay, in my defense, i had to wait until after school to corner you by your car. there's literally no other opportunity for me to get close to you dude." he tried to explain, his hands a flurry of expression. he needed connor to listen. he couldn't deal with re-watching one of them die. again.
"that's exactly what a stalker would say." connor insisted.
"you can't be serious. we're high schoolers and you're like the smartest, most appreciated kid in twelfth grade!"
"i don't care. if you follow me around again after school, i swear to god i will have you put behind bars." connor responded with finality. thatcher didn't bother to try and stop him from walking away this time. he was too busy fighting for strength as his soul grew hollower, and the thing between his lungs made him sag in exhaustion. this life's death would be cruel and lonely.

that night thatcher went home to cold sheets, and dreamt of fleeting kisses and heartfelt words as an older version of himself bid connor good bye when he boarded a ship, leaving his counterpart behind. the last thing he'd seen before startling awake yet again, was the beautiful script of the ship's name painted in ivory onto the bow; titanic. he'd prefer not to have been reminded of that life.