You may not know who I am yet, and you may not care, for this is not an important part to the tale you are about to hear. This story is only mine to tell as given to me by the great name in which I tell about. And if you're willing to sit through it, I will give you this to think of as the events of a life come to term in front of your eyes. Whether or not I am an imbecile to face the punishment of crimes I did not commit, or a hero to protect the name of the more innocent at heart, is up for you to decide. But let me tell you this, I have not and will not ever know of a more braver man than by the name and face of Barnaby Kaigler.
The tale begins in the small little square in the middle of Granger City that was nothing more than a filler between two masterpieces. On one side a booming industrial, where buildings looked as though they could reach the clouds and people moved fast and frenzied about the grey and black streets.
On the other side, one might mistake it for a village how rundown it looked. The people dressed in the musky browns of hard work, and the dark yellows of blissful ignorance. While the small little homes, some just slightly sturdier than shacks, seemed barely fit for a man over five and a half foot.
This was where the young Barnaby lived. In such a place the rich barely had enough to feed their children come end of month, while the poor seemed to be the happiest of people you are to ever greet. Young Barnaby however, was not to be mistaken by the joys of just barely making by.
Barely passed age twelve, one would assume he had the soul of a man nearing death. As the depressed blank that was his common expression and the old sigh that seemed to cross all the way to his eyes, did not fit the skinny and boyish nature of his walk. This was a day not of celebration, at least not in his mind, but a day to prepare.
A group of rapscallions, masked in the art of taking children and turning them into their own, had thought to have been captured. The leader anyway, or so everyone thought he was, was to be hanged. Right in the brink between the two chapters of the city. Barnaby knew the one thing that kept the industrial side and his own in cooperation was going to be gone soon. That being the fear of their children being taken from them, and soon they would go back to how things were.
The brown and yellowed would return to how it used to be. Fathers would return to working the long hour days for little pays. While the mothers would hide behind their homes no longer allowed to walk their children to school in the grey and black streets. If not for the school on the edge of the center of the city and the rapscallions, the two separate sides would not even come in contact to each other.
Barnaby realized this and he tried to tell his mother that morning, but she of course shunned it as his wild imagination. Which was odd because before now, Barnaby appeared to have none.
Such a comment made by his older brother Bernard did not go unnoticed. Bernard was nearly seventeen, coming home from his early morning shift at the paper on the industrial side. The two boys looked exactly alike, but couldn't be more different.
Barnaby was quiet and soft-spoken, while his brother was crass and loud. Barnaby tended to spend most of his days reading his schoolbooks, while Bernard has probably never even looked at his own other than to rest his feet up on them.
Not that Bernard didn't have smarts, in fact he was quite genius in one area that Barnaby never seemed to be able to even get a little good at. The art of socialization.
Bernard's friends met them at the door as they did every morning, and Barnaby was reminded of this fact when he was forced to walk among a group of teenagers, alone. It wasn't until they reached the very end of the village side, that the group of rowdy boys shifted.
Barnaby watched as his brother took off his hat, straightened his hair, and then proceeded to shift his book bag from his left shoulder to his right. Barnaby knew that this was how it was before the rapscallions, and this must have been what it would be after the hanging today. Which, his mother was barely allowing him to go see.
"Straighten your back." Bernard reminded him as they entered the school.
Barnaby walked quietly through the hallways, ignoring the fact his brother split off from him a while ago slightly hoping he'd get to his class before he was bombarded by- "Barney!"
Barnaby sighed out of natural habit, the young man coming his way was to barely be considered his only friend. He mastered a fake smile as he turned to face the taller boy.
"Hello Langdon, how are you this morning?" Barnaby said, looking just past the taller boy's earlobe, as if pretending to try to make eye contact with him.
"The heavens are a-singing today, aren't they Barney. A criminal is to be hanged." He smiled, as Barnaby began to walk.
"I thought the angels cried when a man dies." Barnaby said, ignoring the young man that just tried to shove him over in the hallway with a knock to his shoulder.
"When a good man dies, Barney." He stopped him by the same shoulder, to look into his eyes. As if warning him of picking his next words very carefully.
It was a well known fact that the man to be hanged was one from his side of the city. Apparently that immediately made Barnaby to be more likely to protest his execution.
Which was not the case. Despite his overall distaste for the system of deciding who lives and who dies, he believed this man deserved punishment for his crimes. If that punishment happened to be execution, then so be it.
Just as Barnaby was prepared to comment on this matter, the bell rang and the teachers started their normal routine of yelling at students who only just heard the bell.
Barnaby looked to the arm around his shoulder that slowly slid away as they got closer to class, by the time they reached the door he was surprised to see his "friend" still by his side.
The difference between Lang and himself had not to do with their different financial situations, instead how those situations had raised them to be. Lang was spoiled, although Barnaby was never allowed to call him that to his face. In fact sometimes Barnaby wondered why Lang even talked to him.
He had enough friends of his own, but the condescending pampered prince still felt the need to shower Barnaby with his arduous jokes and tales of dollar sign dads.
Just as he entered the room he felt another knock to his shoulder and this time he lost his balance. He fell to his knees with his shoulder bag catching on Lang's jacket, tearing it open and scattering his books all over the entrance of the classroom.
Laughter. Yes, of course, because it was so funny to ruin what little possessions someone like him had. Lang turned around as if asking him whether or not he really needed his help.
Barnaby shook his head. Yes, he was fine. No, he wouldn't ask him to damage his reputation by helping him. Barnaby didn't mind, in fact, he would rather Lang not do anything at all.
Just as he reached for the last book, which he clearly couldn't hold, Barnaby touched someone's hand. Fiery red hair came into his view and as he looked up he saw the pretty green eyes of Adeline Hackett.
She didn't speak, and neither did Barnaby. The whole thing could just go unnoticed and he'd never have to answer any questions as long as she didn't speak.
He felt like he was digging his own grave as he let her carry his book to his desk for him. She placed the single notebook down on the corner of his desk, and he plopped the rest down with a thud.
She waited until he sat down, he was unsure if she might speak or not, but she only gave him a small smile before turning to walk back to her desk. He could tell from the corner of his eye that Lang, and at least a few others, were watching them.
The class had only just started, with Barnaby's old and utterly depressed teacher more melancholy than normal, when the nasally voice of the chairman of the school board came over the loud speaker.
"Today, students shall be released early. When we hit halfway into the tenth hour all students should head straight home. I expect from then your parents can decide whether or not you will observe the spectacle that shall take place in the city square at noon."
The class erupted in joy, everyone except Barnaby. Adeline turned around to look at him with a smile and he tried his best to smile back but it never reached his eyes. They were getting out of school, for an execution, and no one seemed anything but happy about it.
