On the Gallows

On The Gallows

         The bell chimed. It signaled four in the morning, or shall I say, in the dead of the night. Four times it rang aloud, awakening everyone in the prison. Just like it always did. I could hear the restless movements of the jail’s inhabitants moving, turning and tossing from one side to the other, trying to find some position of comfort, knowing full well that they couldn’t.

         I lay on the cold floor awaiting the inevitable, for the men clad in blue uniforms to come collect me. The terror that had been threatening to erupt had finally reached its peak, and it made me senseless.

         Panic.

         Scared even.

         It was scheduled for four-fifteen in the morning. At a time when everyone slept, I was to be sent to sleep too, albeit an eternal one.

         A ring of keys clattered outside my cell, and I heard one of it being fitted into my door. It turned. The lock clicked open, and death in the form of the jail’s warden stood in the doorframe. Its hideous face showed an expression, but I was too preoccupied to see it. Or anything else, for that matter. I didn’t see the guards enter my cell, nor did I notice them tie my hands behind my back. They pulled me up, and at the door, the warden said something. It was incoherent.

         I was dragged all the way, my legs seeming to be dead long before it was due, and all the while my thoughts ran across the things I had done in my life. What had I done to deserve this? All I did was rob a bank. It wasn’t my fault that the business man tried to act the hero. How was I to know he was an undercover cop? He was standing barely a meter away when he pulled out his gun. I could see it in his eyes that he meant to shoot me the moment he got the chance.

         So I did what I had to.

         I rammed the butt of my knife into his head, and in the struggle that followed, one shot was fired. No one knew who fired it. All they knew was that the undercover cop was writhing on the ground, clutching his heart, while I stood with the gun in my hands.

         What happened next was like a blurred movie that was being played too fast. I remember standing there for what seemed like years, and then the police came, and the next thing I knew, I was locked up.

         It has been two years since that happened. And here I was now, being dragged to the fate I brought upon myself.

         I had arrived. The gallows looked daunting in the moonlight. It would have looked beautiful, too, if it hadn’t been meant for me. They pushed me up the steps, and my legs gave way completely. It simply refused to move, to climb to its death.

         But the prison guards were merciless, and I somehow found myself on the risen platform. I was told to step up to the hangman’s rope.

         I didn’t feel my legs move forward. What I did feel was warm liquid gushing down my pants.

         They put a black bag over my head and asked me my last wish. I had no idea what I said. All I know was that the guards fell laughing. The rope was then thrown over my head.

         I waited for what felt like eternity for them to tighten it, all the while thinking, no, hoping for a miracle to happen. Was it regret that I felt? No, regrets are for those who did things, and did them on purpose. I never did anything to that policeman. And it definitely wasn’t on purpose.

         Then they tightened.

         My heart raced, faster than it had the whole morning. My mind buzzed, and numbness, shock, and disbelief started engulfing me, drowning me even before death had its firm grip on my neck.

         Fear. The fear for my life took over, and it fed me with anger, with the will to not give in like a coward. If I were to die, I would do so bravely. And this thought gave me the strength and energy I so lacked the entire morning.

         My legs, the very same ones who refused to move, were now struggling and kicking, and I felt the rope slacken. My head was free of death’s grip. But I was still blinded with the black bag over my head, and the next step I took sent me sprawling headfirst to the concrete ground.

         The noise was audible, and I felt as if someone had slammed a sledgehammer against my head. But the desire to live was greater than the pain, and I got up and ran for the door.

         I could see! The black bag had somehow gotten of my head!

         I was reaching the door. It was only a meter away. From the corner of my eyes, I saw one of the prison guards aim a rifle at me. That one meter seemed like a mile instead, and it took forever to reach.

         The guard fired.

         I didn’t know which was more painful: the rifle wound in my back or seeing the door of my freedom slipping away.

         My heart began to race faster than light. The sense of hopelessness, the feeling of loss overpowered me, and I closed my eyes, painfully aware of tears sliding down my nose and cheek. Was I crying for myself? At least the fear would be gone. At least I would feel no more terror.

* * * * *

         A clap thunder reverberated around the prison, and I opened my eyes to find myself in my cell once again. I look around, befuddled, and see the door closed. It was still locked. I felt my back but there was no wound there. No blood covered my hands.

         I looked up and saw a guard looking through the square-shaped hole in the door at me.

         “What day is it?” I croaked, fearing his reply.

         He smiled a sad smile before replying. “You’ve been asking that ever since your sentence was handed out.”

         I looked at him fixedly, awaiting.

         “Your asking everyday will not make it happen sooner, you know?”

         When I continued to look expectantly at him, he finally gave in and confirmed my fears. “It’s still a month to your execution.” He went away from the door with that.

         A month. How many times more would I have to die before I really did? The guard was right, I had been asking the same question, after dreaming the same dream every single day. But my death had looked so real. And to think I was glad to have died tonight…I had thought the pain and terror was finally over.

         It wasn’t. It was still just the beginning.