It should have been just like any other hanging. The man’s trial had been quick and straightforward, the sentence past without incident. He had killed his wife and three children; no one knew why, but who could understand the mind of a crazed killer? He was guilty; that’s all there was to it.
…Supposedly.
To the right of the prisoner stood some old fop halfheartedly reading the charges, looking as if he would give all the world to be back in bed instead of performing what could almost be called the pleasantries of this ghastly affair. On the left side of the stage stood the executioner, looking the part right down to the black hood. It was difficult to tell without seeing his face, but something in his demeanor suggested he was almost enjoying this. To one side of the gallows was a line of gunmen, present only for formality’s sake. The condemned man himself stood quietly, hands tied, noose around his neck, eyes downcast. He had given up trying to convince people of his innocence, and had nearly, nearly, resigned himself to his fate.
Raising his head to look at the crowd, the thought flicked briefly across his mind how abominable this all was; not just sending a falsely accused man to his grave, but that people would actually come and watch. This was entertainment for them; they would get up at this wretched hour, put on their fine clothes, and walk across town for the sole purpose of seeing the life depart from a fellow man. Sick. They were the ones that deserved to be hanged. Even if he had killed his family, he wouldn’t have sold tickets; wouldn’t have gone ‘round asking the neighbors if they were free to watch a grisly killing.
Scanning the faces of the throng, all of them gawping at their little spectacle, he saw one man out of place. He didn’t seem to be taking this as any sort of amusement. No curiosity lit his eyes, no morbid fascination; he looked genuinely disgusted at the proceedings. He looked old… maybe… Something about him made it difficult to tell. He wore the same fashionable clothes as everyone else, a black coat with tails, starched collar, polished shoes, a cane that looked purely ornamental, and a top hat, but even these looked out of place. They looked slightly rumpled; not slept in, just worn for an extended period of time. They also didn’t fit quite right, hanging loosely around his shoulders, and ever so slightly too short in the sleeves. He had greying hair and high cheekbones, made more distinct by his pale, sunken face and the shadows under his eyes, adding to the impression that he wasn’t in the best of health. Despite all this he still looked, somehow, impressive; commanding, and respectable.
As soon as the convict had made these conclusions, the man in the crowd turned his eyes to meet his. For an instant, everything else melted away, the whole world consisting of those two storm grey rings. Something flashed between the two, something the condemned man couldn’t quite understand; it was as if a conversation, consisting entirely of images, emotions, and, well, just plain meaning had taken place in the span of a mere second, so fast he could barely remember it, and understand even less. All he could decipher of this most basic of languages where two questions: Are you innocent?Yes. Do you want to live?Yes. Just as he realized that the second part of each of these was his own mind, unconsciously answering the questions almost before they were posed, he saw the man give a curt nod, hardly noticeable, and lower his eyes to the ground. His lips could almost appear to be moving, though no sound came from them.
As the world leaked back in at the absence of the man’s eyes, he suddenly became aware again of what was happening. The charges had been finished, and the executioner was reaching for the lever that would open the trap door and end his life.
The prisoner was suddenly struck with the ridiculousness of the whole affair; he wasn’t actually going to die; it simply wasn’t going to happen. This was all just a joke or something, and not exactly one in the best of taste. And what was the executioner doing, about to open the trap door? That was dangerous, that was; someone could get hurt. This was all just a big waste of everyone’s time. Someone should put a stop to this right n-
He felt the trap doors begin to open beneath his feet; that was the last thing he remembered.
Later on, a handful of people who were standing so the light was just so said that they had seen the hanged man’s soul leave his body through his mouth; only one saw where it went.
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So, what do you think so far? I'm not sure if I'll keep the title, but it works for now. I also don't really know where the plot is going... Hopefully I can get in a few more chapters before a plot becomes absolutely necessary 3nodding Constructive criticism is always appreciated!
