I sit in a cold, stone cell, alone. My eyes take in the brightening of the sky through the sturdy iron bars crisscrossing the tiny window set high above my head. I stare nervously as the midnight blue sky gradually changes colors before settling into an impossibly pale blue. It's officially day. The dawn that usually brings so much hope to humanity now brings forth dread as the morning bells ring.
This is it. The last day breath will pass my lips. This is Hangman's Day.
Upon this day, I shall die, though I have committed no crime. 'Twas my father who murdered my beloved mother all those years ago. 'Twas my father who pushed her down the grand staircase of our large manor house. But my father wasn't about to let his own life end, that selfish bastard. Instead, he told the policemen that came to investigate that it was me who had pushed my mother. My own mother. I loved her almost more than I could bear, and after her death my heart shattered. It stopped beating, stopped caring. Of course, I still have a heartbeat. I'm still alive after all. However, my heart no longer held love. It was no longer filled with joy. It became empty, desolate even. Yes, my heart pumps blood through my veins. No, it no longer cares for anything this world has to offer. And now, sitting all alone in a cold prison cell, there is nothing more I want than to see my father in this position. He should be here to absolve for his sins against my mother and myself. But he's nowhere to be found, having disappeared the same day I was arrested. So here I sit, a young boy no older than seventeen, about to expire for a crime my father committed. I lament at the cruelty this world presents. I cannot wait until I am rid of it and once again in the safety and comfort of my mother's arms. I close my eyes, imagining what that will feel like. The embrace of a mother is like nothing else in this world. Whenever my mother would hug me, I remember the warmth. I remember feeling safe, like nothing could touch me. With this image in my mind, I drift away into the realm of hopes, dreams, and memories.
I wake with a jerk at the sound of angry yelling. Mama's mad at Papa again by the sound of it. I rub my eyes with the back of my hands and drag myself out of my warm, cozy bed. Quietly, I tip-toe across my room to the heavy, dark oak door and open it. Sticking my head out, I glance both ways and spot Mama and Papa near the big stairs. Just as I slip out of my room and start making my way towards them, Papa reaches out and pushes his hand roughly against Mama's shoulder. She staggers backward and trips on a long bulge in the carpeting. For a moment, she's suspended, only one foot on the edge of the top marble stair before she crashes down. She tumbles head over heels, her skull making a horrendous cracking sound as it collides with a stair edge before her body collapses flimsily in a disarray of limbs at the bottom. A terrified scream pierces the air and it takes me a minute to realize it's coming from my own mouth.
There's blood spreading in a puddle around my mother as I race to her, nearly falling down the stairs myself in my haste. I fall to my knees by her side, my trousers immediately wetting with my mother's blood. I'm too young to know it, but there's simply too much blood. The pool around her grows steadily as tears cloud my vision. I stretch out my hand and nudge her arm. She doesn't react, so I take to shaking her with jerky, panicked movements. "Mama? Mama, wake up! You have to wake up!" I scream hysterically. My beloved mother doesn't move, doesn't show any signs that she's heard my screams or felt my shaking. Servants come running, but they stop short at the gruesome scene before them. My wailing gets higher in pitch, breaking them out of their daze and they rush over, careful not to step in any blood. This proves a difficult with the ever growing quantity of the sticky liquid. Mari, my maid and nanny, wraps a thick arm around my shoulders and leads me away, ignoring my sobs of protest. I want to stay with Mother, but she forces me to walk with her back up the stairs and to my room. As we walk, we pass by my father. He's kneeling at the high point of the stairs, his hands fisted around the hair on top of his head, his mouth gaping, and his eyes wide. He seems frozen in this position as Mari and I pass. He doesn't make a sound or even blink. "What happened, mon enfant? (French: My child)" she asks gently in her lilting, sickly sweet voice and French accent. I take a shaky breath to calm myself before I speak, "Mama and Papa were arguing again!" I sniffle before taking a deep breath and continuing "They were being really loud, and woke me up. I went to see what was wrong, but I never got to ask." Another breath." I saw Papa push Mama and she" I choke out a sob "fell." I pause and look up at my nanny with hope shining in my eyes. "Will she be okay, Mari?" The elderly French woman looks down at the me. Putting her arms around my torso, she answers my question with slight hesitation. "I don't know, mon amour. (French: My love) I do not know." My eyes fill with tears and I bury my head into her shoulder. We sit that way for a long time, me crying softly and she stroking my head gently, singing French lullabies in my ear. Finally, after what feels like an eternity has passed, I fall asleep in my nanny's arms.
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.