mystic1110
2014-06-15, 12:10 PM
An Execution
The thief stood terrified on the wooden stool. The hemp rope around his neck bit into his skin, but he wasn't worried about scarring - death was fast approaching. The executioner asked him something, but his heart was beating to hard in his chest for him to hear. The executioner repeated himself and the thief raised his head his head to look. The sun was blinding, and the noise of the crowd was disorienting. Finally he was able to focus on the burly man with the black hood over his head. The man asked him the same question. He tried to listen, but someone in the crowd threw something, he didn't know what, but the motion distracted him. The executioner repeated himself again, clearly annoyed. the thief finally heard.
He asked. . . "to whom do you pray to deliver you from death?"
A stupid question. There were no gods anymore. The thief was sure that their were Gods once, but their worshipers either died out or were converted to the worship of other Gods. And then those Gods and churches crumbled. Those forgotten gods wail and flutter around the edges of reality without substance or even thought. All they have is need. Out of fashion, like last year's gowns or old shoes and hats. Gods who shrunk and shrunk as the years go by until they're finally nothing at all but a kind of anguished wailing. Just dreams and thoughts. How could you pray to them and expect deliverance?
The executioner turned away, irritated at the lack of response. The thief tried to speak, say something, pray to one god or another, a name he heard long ago in an alleyway or a tavern. Perhaps one of the names that a crazed priest at one of those abandoned churches. Anything, now that death had come for him. But the rope was too tight against his throat. He tried to whisper the name, but instead he just gagged and starred right into the sun. He tried harder . . but all that came out was:
Deliverance.
The chair was kicked out from underneath him, and the rope suddenly got a whole lot tighter, the thief kicked the open air trying to find footing while he strangled. He twisted and attempted to scream. He felt his eyes bulge out of his face, the veins on his neck growing so big that the rope was actually making him bleed. The noise of the crowd growing louder and louder and then. . . silence.
The executioner took out a knife and cut down the noose, and the man fell onto the wooden floor of the gallows. He clutched the noose around his neck and looked up at the executioner, wondering why the sudden mercy. Except the burly man with the black hood was gone and was replaced by well built man with a black mask without ornament. It was simply a smooth black expanse with no eye holes or breathing holes. The man had short black hair however and was dressed in a sort of leathery black robe. It was then the thief noticed that the crowd was gone - in fact all colors were gone. The world was simply the harsh mono-colored of high noon, shadow and light. The thief noticed that the black masked man held the rope of the noose in his hand.
"Who are you?" he hoarsely spoke.
The man said nothing, but another voice answered him. The man weakly turned to look at the newcomer. It was another man with a mask that was stylized bronze sun, with carved rays spreading from a sinister, unsmiling, face. He walked up to the thief, and grabbed him, dragging him forward.
"The Sun commands you now! I Burn away shadows, banish night, make your sins plain! Honest men rise as I rise, and sleep as I set, I am lord and father of all propriety! I shall carve the sins of your life into your eyes!!"
The thief trembled and tried to speak on his own behalf, but the Sun took out a quill pen and while the man in the black mask behind him held his head and used his fingers to hold his eyes open, the Sun began to write on his eyes. He yelled and screamed while the Sun was writing, and then stopped when the Sun stopped. He could still see, but it was like looking through a veil - he could see the shadows of the words written on his eyes. The Sun walked away while another voice spoke. He looked at the newcomer with his sin engraved eyes and it was a woman with a red dress. She wore a velvet mask, like those used by the magistrate judges to conceal their identities. She took the man by his shoulders and forced him to kneel.
"I am Justice! All things I weigh, but gold counts dearest, and you have none. All names I read, but those with titles please me best, and you descend from common dirt. You are a thief and that shall be your name henceforth!"
The thief tried to cry defiance, to yell his name. . . but he had none. . . not anymore. He began to cry, but the sins in his eyes kept the tears from falling to freedom. Another voice spoke. The man didn't want to turn, so the speaker picked him up. It was a man in a brown leather mask.
"I am the Hired Man. I bar every door, I guard every wall. I wear the leash of better men. I fill the gutters with your blood to earn my bread. Your cries are my music. And you shall run from me forever!"
The Hired Man kicked the man and the thief began to run, but the black masked man still held the noose. And finally he spoke.
"I am Judgement. Hear me well. I am mercy refused. I am expedience. I am a signature on a page. And that is how you died - by clerks, by stamps, by seals in wax. I am cheap, I am easy, and I am always hungry. I have waited. And now you run."
The noose slid from his grasp, and the thief began to run through the town - the empty town devoid of life, with the Sun always overhead. The Hired Man always walking behind him, while Judgment and Justice remained behind.
Perhaps he should have prayed to other gods. Deliverance, was a harsh god indeed.
The thief stood terrified on the wooden stool. The hemp rope around his neck bit into his skin, but he wasn't worried about scarring - death was fast approaching. The executioner asked him something, but his heart was beating to hard in his chest for him to hear. The executioner repeated himself and the thief raised his head his head to look. The sun was blinding, and the noise of the crowd was disorienting. Finally he was able to focus on the burly man with the black hood over his head. The man asked him the same question. He tried to listen, but someone in the crowd threw something, he didn't know what, but the motion distracted him. The executioner repeated himself again, clearly annoyed. the thief finally heard.
He asked. . . "to whom do you pray to deliver you from death?"
A stupid question. There were no gods anymore. The thief was sure that their were Gods once, but their worshipers either died out or were converted to the worship of other Gods. And then those Gods and churches crumbled. Those forgotten gods wail and flutter around the edges of reality without substance or even thought. All they have is need. Out of fashion, like last year's gowns or old shoes and hats. Gods who shrunk and shrunk as the years go by until they're finally nothing at all but a kind of anguished wailing. Just dreams and thoughts. How could you pray to them and expect deliverance?
The executioner turned away, irritated at the lack of response. The thief tried to speak, say something, pray to one god or another, a name he heard long ago in an alleyway or a tavern. Perhaps one of the names that a crazed priest at one of those abandoned churches. Anything, now that death had come for him. But the rope was too tight against his throat. He tried to whisper the name, but instead he just gagged and starred right into the sun. He tried harder . . but all that came out was:
Deliverance.
The chair was kicked out from underneath him, and the rope suddenly got a whole lot tighter, the thief kicked the open air trying to find footing while he strangled. He twisted and attempted to scream. He felt his eyes bulge out of his face, the veins on his neck growing so big that the rope was actually making him bleed. The noise of the crowd growing louder and louder and then. . . silence.
The executioner took out a knife and cut down the noose, and the man fell onto the wooden floor of the gallows. He clutched the noose around his neck and looked up at the executioner, wondering why the sudden mercy. Except the burly man with the black hood was gone and was replaced by well built man with a black mask without ornament. It was simply a smooth black expanse with no eye holes or breathing holes. The man had short black hair however and was dressed in a sort of leathery black robe. It was then the thief noticed that the crowd was gone - in fact all colors were gone. The world was simply the harsh mono-colored of high noon, shadow and light. The thief noticed that the black masked man held the rope of the noose in his hand.
"Who are you?" he hoarsely spoke.
The man said nothing, but another voice answered him. The man weakly turned to look at the newcomer. It was another man with a mask that was stylized bronze sun, with carved rays spreading from a sinister, unsmiling, face. He walked up to the thief, and grabbed him, dragging him forward.
"The Sun commands you now! I Burn away shadows, banish night, make your sins plain! Honest men rise as I rise, and sleep as I set, I am lord and father of all propriety! I shall carve the sins of your life into your eyes!!"
The thief trembled and tried to speak on his own behalf, but the Sun took out a quill pen and while the man in the black mask behind him held his head and used his fingers to hold his eyes open, the Sun began to write on his eyes. He yelled and screamed while the Sun was writing, and then stopped when the Sun stopped. He could still see, but it was like looking through a veil - he could see the shadows of the words written on his eyes. The Sun walked away while another voice spoke. He looked at the newcomer with his sin engraved eyes and it was a woman with a red dress. She wore a velvet mask, like those used by the magistrate judges to conceal their identities. She took the man by his shoulders and forced him to kneel.
"I am Justice! All things I weigh, but gold counts dearest, and you have none. All names I read, but those with titles please me best, and you descend from common dirt. You are a thief and that shall be your name henceforth!"
The thief tried to cry defiance, to yell his name. . . but he had none. . . not anymore. He began to cry, but the sins in his eyes kept the tears from falling to freedom. Another voice spoke. The man didn't want to turn, so the speaker picked him up. It was a man in a brown leather mask.
"I am the Hired Man. I bar every door, I guard every wall. I wear the leash of better men. I fill the gutters with your blood to earn my bread. Your cries are my music. And you shall run from me forever!"
The Hired Man kicked the man and the thief began to run, but the black masked man still held the noose. And finally he spoke.
"I am Judgement. Hear me well. I am mercy refused. I am expedience. I am a signature on a page. And that is how you died - by clerks, by stamps, by seals in wax. I am cheap, I am easy, and I am always hungry. I have waited. And now you run."
The noose slid from his grasp, and the thief began to run through the town - the empty town devoid of life, with the Sun always overhead. The Hired Man always walking behind him, while Judgment and Justice remained behind.
Perhaps he should have prayed to other gods. Deliverance, was a harsh god indeed.