Discovering the Secrets of a Murderer

Chapter 1 (Preview)

Never have I imagined that this is my life and the future I shall take. One would think that it is a life not worth living.

Well, I do sometimes...think of that.

But the longer I avoid myself wallowing on the things I will no longer do or experience, the tougher I get. It just makes me feel like I can conquer everything when I can prevent myself from crying or feeling sorry for myself.

Because crying, for me, is for weaklings. And I was never weak. I was tough. The reason I have done all those inhuman things, they say.

I have blood in my hands, breaths that I have taken forever. But they have more to learn about me, the lies I've told and the secrets I keep. There are more in store. And they need to have the guts to listen to what I will share.

-A

~•~

It was a beautiful day in Amarus. The sun was bright and the breeze cold yet soothing. The clouds forming shapes and images she would appreciate if she will just pay attention to them.

Though she can't do that now.

Because among all other things, though beautiful and serene, this day for her is the most dreadful and wicked.

This day...is her execution day.

Hands and feet bound in chains, hair tangled from days or weeks or months (she already failed to count) of staying on that hellhole, and the foul smell that eventually sticks to her skin.

She was the spectacle today. The celebrated murderer now faces the punishment for the crimes she committed.

People flocked just to witness her death. Most were cursing her, saying that she deserves whatever will come upon her. Some believe she is innocent and was judged unjustly.

"Come on now, lass. Let's just get this over with," one of the men holding her said.

She was dragged towards the platform, less careful and more on force. She had missed her step a couple of times, maybe from their dragging or she just couldn't find any strength on her knees to mind every step she took.

She finally saw the rope which will take her life. Many died before her using that. And she is damn certain that she will have a slow, painful and agonizing death. She is thin and weighs so low, her hanging would certainly take time before she finally catches her last breath.

But then she can never choose how she will die. If this is it, then so be it.

The next moments became a blur. She found herself already standing on the scaffold. People were watching her still form while someone reads her death sentence. They were silent, listening to the depths of her crime and the punishment fit for it.

She wetted her dry lips, but it only chapped even more.

After the reading, shouts erupted from the people. Curses and all, she heard it. Some were even throwing anything they could find just to express their hatred toward her.

Someone puts the rope around her neck and during the whole duration, just seconds away before everything turns black, she did not weep nor speak. She stared like the cold woman she was known—emotionless with eyes that pierce through one's soul. And those eyes will forever close now as the floor she was standing on flew open and she hangs like a piece of earring clinging on an ear.

She did not struggle. She accepted and waited—waited for everything to just end.