Ho Hallassía Synagogí

Fleeing the State

    The snapping sound was barely audible over the heavy foot traffic, people suddenly clammoring through the streets as the beading hot sky clouded over grey. If he was going to act, he must do it now.  Sinew charged a wooden arrow through the sky from the top of a market building a few stops down. In the seconds it took to reach its final arc, the metic Alexios cursed his dieties at the sudden rain and frantic footfall of civilians unprepared for a summer rain. 

   "Mētēr mou to aristerón, Hermes!" He cried, eyes widening as the stone tip pierced the chest of Kleitos Anaxagoras. The migrant had to bite his tongue from exclaiming with pride as the law enforcing archontes went down with a shriek, his prejudice and corruption going down with him and stopping his patrol shift short. Civilians fell over each other rushing to his aid, their concerned shouts blending with the howling downpour. 

Apó tin ápopsi tou Alexios,

    "The godless choíros is dead!" I hardly wailed as I slid down the wet ladder and fled into a back alley. I made note to put less enthusiastic weight into my strides. The splashing of rains accumulative would give me away. I needed to conceal my kynigos and head to the south end of the peninsula and escape the Isthmus of Corinthe at once! 

   I knew it would only be a matter of time before the dēlatores would be gathering information on me and the archontes should be hunting a suspect as we speak. Worried and hostile eyes were all over searching for who killed their dear mighty Kleitos. They must be so scared, who will keep the metics from committing the crime of walking the same streets as the rest, who will intimidate them out of showing their face? Who will bend the law against us? Oh, the magistrates of course. This would only be the first example to be made, the first fear struck in the hearts of our governing council. More would come when a revolution is underway, but for now a retreat to the seas was imperitive.

   By now my bare feet should have burned from the wet stone sanding down my callous, but it was essential to me that the dead skin built a hardy protection against the elements. Where I was going the pads of my hands and feet would need the grip to keep pace. Whispers of a heinous attack on Corinthe's law could be heard from the corners of buildings as I bolted the other way.  The back allies  wound into unpaved paths, I had to deviate before walking into the city gates. The phylakes would be standing guard on both sides, and the most productive detour would be to trek south through the forested backcountry and to the shore. The wet grass against my soles felt refreshing and the precipitate dripping down my hair and onto my face felt freeing, bolting through the brush liberated by my crimes. By the name of Hermes that liberation shall remain. The pouring rain began to take on the smell of salt and rot; the coast was near.