The Executor
The Pit and the Pendulum from the POV of his captor.
I do not own any of the characters or concepts represented herein. They belong to Edgar Allen Poe.
We placed him in his prison to die. It will not take long. In the dark he will explore his cell. Curiosity will overcome him eventually. The pit, a gaping hole in the center of the cell, will become his grave. It is a cruel way to die, but not as bad as what we have prepared for him if he survives.
He crawls along the edge of the cell, against the wall. He is curious. What kind of prison is his in? He does not know what awaits in the center of his cell. The pit. Ready to engulf him.
They are coming, the enemy. Our forces have not been able to stop them. The general says that they are headed in our direction. I hope that our armies will be able to defeat the infidels, that they will not be able to reach our city.
I watch as he awakes. He begins to explore again, but he falls. His head hangs over the edge of the pit, and he realizes what death we had prepared for him. He was lucky to escape the trap we set for him, but we will not be deterred. As he sleeps, I come into the cell. I set up a wooden frame and lay him on it. I deftly tie sturdy knots with a single rope. He is tied securely and will not be able to escape, but his left arm is left free so he can eat, and his chest is left bare. Nothing will get in the path to his heart.
Days pass. The enemy still approaches. I hear news of defeats everywhere. How much longer will we be able to hold up? They still approach. They will be here soon. The city is preparing. The men collect weapons and gather at night to hold whispered councils. I, as a guard, also have a duty. When they arrive, I will fight too.
The pendulum is swinging, swinging. I can always hear the creaking as metal rubs against wood. Slowly, slowly it descends toward him. A fraction of a millimeter every minute. Now I can detect fear in his eyes. He knows his fate. He sees the blade swinging, death descending upon him slowly, slowly... I chuckle. Now does he wish that he had fallen into the hole? It seems welcome now compared to what he now faces.
The city is preparing for the impending attack, but I watch over the prisoner still. We are both waiting: he with growing dread and I with growing impatience. How much longer will this take? But I know that in the end, my waiting will be rewarded. I will see the pain in his face as the blade digs into his flesh, slowly descending toward his heart. At last the infidel will receive his doom.
Now is the time. The pendulum swings just centimeters above his chest. He is beginning to get desperate. He exhales every time the blade swings over him, trying to avoid the fatal blade. Now the blade touches his shirt, shredding it. I rub my hands together and watch as he frantically struggles with his bonds.
I hear the pounding of thousands of horses riding through the town, loud shots reverberating and the screams of injured horses and frightened people. My fellow guards are grabbing weapons and running through the halls. But I still have a duty to perform before I can join my comrades. I continue to watch the prisoner.
He grabs the remnants of the meat I have provided him with and starts rubbing it on the ropes holding him down. I think he is going crazy. But then the rats swarm over him. I can tell that they are gnawing on the meat-saturated ropes. I curse silently. Why did I have to leave meat? I have helped him to escape. Never before has anyone escaped the pit and the pendulum. The blade, swinging lower, grazes his chest, but then he is free of his bonds. He edges away from the pendulum to safety.
Now I am getting desperate. I was not prepared for his escape, but I am determined that he will die. I pull a lever that will heat up the walls, and on second thought, pull another that will move the walls of the cell inward, throwing the infidel into the pit and ending his life at long last. But I do not have time to stay and watch. I grab my weapon and run toward the noise of the fighting. By the time I reach my companions, it is over. The city has surrendered. The infidels have won.