End of My Rope

The whole world stood still for me, holding its breath. I stared out from the scaffold with a look of utter terror on my face. Sweat leaked from every pore. Nervously my tongue darted out, licking my lips which had dried in the afternoon sun. It was coming. It was time. I was going to die.

Fear gripped my heart as the noose was lowered and placed around my neck. The executioner tightened the rope with a jerk, making the rough material scrape against the soft flesh of my throat, digging in, giving me a preview of what I was about to experience. Slowly my eyes closed, a prayer rising in my throat. I did not want to die; I did not want to die. Damn it. I. Did. Not. Want. To. Die!

My senses were alert to every little thing. I felt the blistering heat off the sun hit me as if it were a fire from hell. I felt the cool beads of sweat on my brow, doing little to cool off my rising body temperature. I heard the low voices of those gathered to see my death. I could hear the beating of my own heart as the blood pounded in my ears. I could see death itself staring me in the face through my closed eyelids.

The crowd grew quiet as the executioner stepped forward, paper in hand, to read off my crimes. A list of treachery, piracy, murder, thievery, rape…it wound on and on for an eternity. Crimes that I had committed and some that I had not. All this that I was being punished for. All this that lead to the scars marring my body, the brand in my side, the blindness in my right eye. All this that paved my way to hell.

As the last of the charges were read aloud, I raised my voice in protest. Never, never had I hurt her. I may be accused of murder; accused of piracy, accused of treachery, but no man, no man would label me a rapist. I had not touched a hair on her head. She lies!

The executioner turned to face me, a grim look upon his face. He said nothing to my outburst, nothing to my aid or against me. He simply walked by, careful not to get my sweat upon his clothes. I growled under my breath, holding back my tears. Was it not enough that I should be forced to leave this world, but that I would do so under slander?

I straightened my posture and closed my eyes once more, unable to stop a tear from sliding its way down my cheek. If I had to bear the shame of crimes I did not commit, at least I would bear them with my head held high.

There was no warning for me. The floor beneath my feet simply disappeared, and I fell, the rope biting into the flesh of my neck. Although I had prayed to God that it would be over soon, that my neck would snap and I would die without pain, it was not to be so. Instead, I felt my eyes bulge as my body strained to support itself only through the muscle and bone lining my neck. I could not breathe; the rope was cutting off my windpipe, crushing me, suffocating me. And all the while, I heard the roar of approval from the crowd as my legs bucked in a desperate attempt for footing.

Oh how I prayed for a kind soul to kill me. An act of euthanasia would have been preferred to that horrid state of strangulation, my life slowly being taken by that damned rope. But they were all to busy celebrating, enjoying the show my struggling body provided.

Before long, it became hard to think, as my head felt to be stuffed with wool. Then, it was with a final spasm that my brain, deprived of life-giving air, failed me, and I died.