The Hangman's Day

Full Disclosure

I awake, fighting tears again and struggling to catch my breath. Sunlight streams through the window, revealing a clear blue sky. I yawn and stretch my stiff muscles. Roughly rubbing my face with one hand, I ponder the dream. It's always the same, every night. I'm awoken once more on that night, five years ago. I'm forced to watch my mother die, night after night. I get no relief from the pain out of my dreams, with my father doing everything legally possible to have me arrested. He claims 'twas I myself who killed my mother. But, as I'm reminded of each night, this is not the case. I can do nothing, however. It's my word against my father's, and he has many friends amongst the court.
A clanging and a loud bang captures my attention and rips me from my painful memories. With a glance out the window, a nervous sweat breaks out on my forehead. If the amount of light outside is anything to go by, I'd say it's getting close to midday. A million thoughts run through my mind as my heartrate skyrockets. Are they coming for me? No, that's ridiculous! They- they can't be. Can they? I'm not ready! It's lunch time. Those guards are probably just bringing food. Yeah, food. They aren't coming for me. I make an attempt to calm my erratic heartbeat and the pounding of my blood. I can feel and hear my pulse, the red liquid rushing through my head. My ears strain to hear over the thumping of my heart as I try counting the footsteps. A chill slips down my spine and worms it's way into my very soul, dread and fear sinking in. I can hear three sets of heavy footfalls coming down the hall. The sound of their boots clicking on the cobblestones reverberates off of the walls. Prisoners rattle the bars of their cells and howl, cursing at the guards. I close my eyes and I pray. I pray those guards aren't coming for me. That they'll pass my door without a second glance. I pray that by some bout of luck, I will live another day.
I pause a moment to really think about what I've just asked for. I'm scared, this is true. But I also want to be free of this place. I squeeze my eyes closed, torn between two sides of my heart. I want to be free, to be with my mother again. Yet there's also a part of me that's terrified. A part that doesn't want to die. I suppose that's just human nature, our will to live. I concentrate on my breathing, being certain to take large, even breaths, as I listen to the guards' footsteps. They're getting closer, the steps louder. Too soon, they stop. I gulp and open one eye just enough to see through the slit of the eyelids. The guards are in front of my cell. Two of them put wide smiles on their lips as they stare at me. The third looks extremely concentrated, with his tongue sticking out of his mouth and eyebrows squished together, as he makes a great deal of noise trying to unlock my cell. He fumbles with his stupidly large ring of keys, dropping them twice, before finally unlocking the door. The smiles on the other two guards' faces widen. They obviously love their jobs. The two step towards me while the third blocks the door to prevent any escape efforts. One guard grabs me by the arm and hoists me to my feet. He pulls too fast, and I trip and fall on my face. All three guards laugh as I pick myself up, the skin of my neck, ears, cheeks, and forehead burning hotter than a funeral pyre.

I'm dragged up some stairs before the guards holding my arms yank me to a halt. The itchy sackcloth covering my head is yanked off in a rough tug and a scratchy rope is looped around my neck as my eyes blink and try to adjust to the light. One of the guards tightens the rope snuggly around my throat, startling me. As my eyes finally focus, I slowly take in the massive crowd before us. Somehow, their jeers and hollering are amplified now that I can see the multitudes making the snarky comments. My eyes scan the large crowd and catch sight of my father. Oddly enough, the look upon his face somewhat resembles pity. He shakes his head and turns away, disappearing into the sea of people. After I lose sight of my father, my eyes take to scanning the crowd again. A thud reaches my ears. I turn my head to the left as much as the rope allows in time to witness two guards pull a fellow prisoner up off the platform's floor. I assume he tried to escape in a desperate attempt to preserve his life. By the looks of it, things didn't go as well as I believe he'd hoped. The two guards take him away back down the stairs and two others haul up a new prisoner marked for death. Imbecile. He gained nothing this day. Now that he's tried to escape he's been taken off of the hangman's agenda. The idiot won't be hung, this is true. In that regard he succeeded in fleeing his execution. However, he won't bet escaping death entirely. For his behavior, he'll be drawn and quartered, presumably by horses as is the standard. We're the lucky ones, the guards say. Our death will be quick and nearly painless they tell us. A hanging is by far the best those of us on death row could hope for.
I turn my head back to the front and once more look out into the crowd. These people have come to watch us die. A sick feeling creeps into my stomach at the thought, and not because it's my death they'll see. No. The disgust I feel is aimed at the people before me. They've come to watch men lose their lives, the same way they'd go to see a play. I'd shake my head, if I were able. The rope is irritating the skin of my neck, making me extremely uncomfortable. My skin is chafing, burning. Last I looked over, when the man tried to get away, only three ropes had hung empty. My guess is that only one remains empty. My eyes once more scan the crowd. It almost feels like I'm looking for someone, but my father's already left.
A figure shrouded in a black cloak catches my attention as they make their way through the crowd towards the platform. I feel somehow connected to the figure, though I've been imprisoned for years and have few friends. The figure has the hood of their cloak pulled low over their face, so I can't tell who it is. My eyes stay glued to the figure as it makes it's way closer. The cries of the crowd increase in volume and intensity. The figure stops in front of me. A small, yet slightly wrinkled hand appears from deep within the cloak and reaches upward. In one smooth motion, the hood is swept off of the figure's head and my eyes widen with disbelief. "Three!" A croaky voice hollers from somewhere to my right. I know who it is. The hangman. He sounds distant as my knees go weak and my heart starts racing. My eyes lock onto those of the woman in the black cloak. She grins a wicked, evil smile as the hangman shouts, "Two!" The world feels far away as my mind goes blank, confusion making me thoughtless as I gaze upon the face of a woman I thought I would never lay eyes upon again. A single tear rolls from my eye and slowly down my cheek. "ONE!" The hangman screams triumphantly. I feel boards beneath my feet disappear and I fall, my eyes never leaving hers. The breath leaves my lungs in a woosh. The last thing my eyes see before the light leaves them is the sight of my mother laughing as my soul departs my body and I cease to exist.