I am sure there is noise around me, but I am deaf to it. Or at least I am trying to be. I am trying to be a lot of things. Proud. Brave. Sure. I am trying not to look at the ground, but rather face the crowds. Everything is so busy. So much is going on. I glance up from the dirt path under my feet to the crowds. So many people moving and shouting, some even throwing things. All the movement, the colors, the sounds, make my head spin. I resign myself to watching the dirt under my feet as I near the gallows.

So many people, at least I won’t be dying alone. That had always been my fear. That I would wither away in some corner by myself. I am going to die, but at least I wasn’t alone, yes, that was something positive amidst the chaos. Though I am sure that I know no one in this crowd they are going to witness my death and this is some comfort to me. I try to imagine the jeering and the yelling is for me, not at me. That these people are shouting words of encouragement rather than insults. I try to imagine that they aren’t yelling for my death.

Another few steps, and I have to wonder why this walk seems to be taking so long. The shouting raises a volume level and I realize the people, the crowd, they aren’t yelling for my death. They just want to see a death. They don’t care who it is, just as long as when everything is said and done, someone swings from the end of a rope. I was like them, like anyone one else in the city I enjoyed a good hanging. Of course this was a few years ago, and I didn’t quite realize the value of a human life. Now I do. And the fact a rope is about to be around my neck has nothing to do with it.

I am focusing on my feet, watching every step, wondering when my little parade will end. I am ready, I think, I can do this. I can face this. No problem. Why is it taking so long? I am not sure how long I can keep on convincing myself.

“I am fine, I am fine,” I mumble to myself over and over. “I can do this. I will stay strong.” I feel something rise in me and I start to lift my head back up. Then I see the first step and everything crashes. I freeze. My eyes are locked on that one wooden step, as I wonder how I ever thought I could do this. I am sacred. I want to run. I want to beg for my life. I want to live! The guards that had been escorting me down the dirt path were now standing on that step. Each has a hold of on of my arms, at the elbow as they are tied tightly at the wrist. The pull, trying to get my onto the step, but I can’t move. I don’t want to die. I had some how forgotten that death was what this walk eventually lead to. But that step, that one little step somehow brought all the realizations I had been trying to ignore right in front of my face. I don’t want to die. But there is no way to avoid this.

I look up at the guards as I am finally pulled on that step, but they don’t care. It doesn’t matter to them. All they have to do is get me to the noose. I am filled with fear as I continue to climb the stairs. They turn, after every four steps, I realize. I am nervous, anxious, I don’t know. I feel as though I might pass out. I wonder if that was to happen if I might be allowed to live. The Stairs continue. Up four, turn, up four turn, I’m there. I might as well be at the highest point in the world.

I gather everything I am and lift my head. So many people. My eyes scan over the sea of bodies. They are laughing. Cheering. I am up here about to die and they are happy? It doesn’t make sense. Looking out on the crowd I feel that fear replaced by hate and anger. What right do they have? To watch my death, let alone cheer for it. I want to yell at them, but my voice is lost. My mouth is too dry. The noise is too loud.

I am lead across the scaffold to the trap. I feel the weaker square of wood sink just a bit under my weight. I wonder if I could jump and maybe make it would collapse now. Then I wouldn’t have to face execution. I would still fall to my death, but somehow that idea seems easier to face.

I hear my charges read. Lies. The Lot of it. Wrong. I don’t need to be here. I still can’t speak, so it doesn’t matter.

I see the rope. Panic replaces that hate. I have to...I have to do something! I look out to the crowd. Eye contact. A second of eye contact. That is all I am looking for. But the crowd is not looking at me, at least in the face. I scan the crowd frantically. I need this. A brief moment of human contact. The rope is placed around my neck, and as the executioner is making sure everything is right, I find one pair of eyes willing to met mine. An elderly old man met my gaze for the briefest of seconds, and the panic subsides, a bit. I some how feel better. Slightly more reassured. I think it was just the rush of making a goal, no matter how small and pointless. I stare into the man’s eyes for only a second more before my world is bathed in darkness as the black hood is placed over my head.

Alone. I’m alone. Though I can still hear the cries of people around me muffled by the thick hood, I was alone. Darkness was my only companion. I was dying alone. Everyone dies alone, no matter how many people surround them. In the end it’s you and death.

There are footsteps and a click. The ground under my feet vanishes.

I am falling. I am dying. When will the rope—