When one is about to be eaten by a ravenous lion, he expects to die bravely, fighting tooth and nail all the way to his final departure. It is never expected that while devouring you, the monster will regret every bite, every scream of pain, and every rattling breath rasping from your dying throat. And yet, even though it tears the creature apart to destroy you, it must follow its given role because after all, you are meant to be its meal, and it is meant to consume you.
Those were my thoughts as the noose was tightened around my neck. Despite my impending doom, my eyes frantically searched the smoke colored crowd. They all looked at me with the same despicably pitying glance, and yet, my eyes finding its mark, there was one face that did not look at me with that mocking simper. Yes there was anguish, anger, and hatred in her eyes, but there was also the passion that I had once sought before anything else.
Yet I digress. I have gotten ahead of myself and in doing so I probably have confused you. So let me start at the beginning. Or the end, as it may be appropriately called. However, for sanctity's sake, you may call it whichever one pleases you more.
The moment I had declared that I, the immaculately innocent and sinless preacher of my humble Puritan town, had, for seven years hence been living a lie, my entire world stopped. The lie, which I am referring to, is that of hiding the fact that I had succumbed to Satan's temptation and had yielded to an uncontained and uncontrollable passion. With the confession, I felt as if my spirit had been freed from what had been an intolerable weight. Once it was gone, I had been struck with a terrible case of vertigo, and had fallen, presumed for dead, upon the scaffold. A few moments later I awoke in Hester's arms surrounded by an awed crowd. The looks on their faces ranged from utter shock, sublime anger, and to, in dear Roger Chillingsworth's case, apathy.
I was, in that moment, both more revered and feared then all of the saints I had so often been compared too. But it only lasted for a moment.
"Seize him!" shouted a soldier, dressed in the brightly ornamental garb of a ceremonial parade soldier.
Immediately, I was surrounded by guards, and pulled from the scaffold, my hand ripped from Hester Prynne's who was both shocked and hysterical. I almost laughed. Her ungainly composure, so able to resist the scorn of thousands could break with even the slightest amount of passionate discord.
As I was dragged to the prison, so ominous in its deteriorating state, I couldn't help but notice the protests from the throng of my late congregation. Yet, the soldiers held the crowd at bay, and I was dragged into the edifice, thrown ungainly into a cell and locked in. Though my situation didn't look good, I was in bliss. My seven years of torment were gone. I was free.
The day passed uninterestingly from there. Though there were numerous shouts from outside the prison (I of course couldn't make them out as my cell was made of incredibly thick stone and iron) no one came to visit me. My only company was a small spider up in the corner of my 'room,' spinning its insignificant thread into a beautiful and intricate web.
Suddenly, the door to the prison burst open and Roger Chillingsworth stumbled in.
Straightening up, he turned his putrid face towards mine, and grinned maliciously.
"The elder clergy members and puritans are dealing with your fate now, you two faced demon worshipper."
"Really?" I said disinterestedly, "And how's that coming along?"
"Well right now," said the twisted fiend, "They are trying to chose between a month in the stocks, dismemberment, or, of course, death. I am lobbying for the death penalty myself."
"Now now Roger," I said, my tone still level, "When you use the word 'two-faced' I hope you are talking about the jackal who stands in front of me." I paused for a moment, "You Roger, if you didn't get what I meant the first time."
Roger moved so quickly to the bars that they rattled ominously; he brought his face as close to mine as he could. "Now you listen you filthy blasphemer, even if she undoubtedly told you so, despite what you think, you are not her lover, and you have never had any right to her. In my opinion you should hang from the scaffold and rot there," He spat venomously.
I moved back from the bars and sighed. "Roger, I may have sinned once, but slowly poisoning another man's mind for seven years is much more of a sin than anything I did once long ago. Your hatred blinds you."
"If that's how you wish it, so be it." And with that, the deformed doctor spun on his heel and marched out the door, slamming it behind him.
"Death." I said to myself. "Even if I am to die, it would be worth it. God have mercy on my internally damned soul."
The night came with rapid speed, and through the gaiety and joy of my freedom, I slowly nodded off.
In fact, I was so embroiled in my dreams of glory and forgiveness that I did not hear the soft clatter of the doors of my cell, or the even softer feet crossing over to me.
Gentle hands caressed my face, and I slowly opened my eyes. Hester Prynne's eyes were sparkled with crystal tears, and I moved to sit up and wipe them away, but she pushed me back down.
"Shhsh. They do not know I have come to thee." She said quietly, "I… had to see you again."
"Death?" I said, feeling as if I should be upset, but being surprised when I wasn't.
The look on Hester's silent face spoke a thousand words.
I sighed, and then looked at her smiling.
"How can you smile so?" she said, tears trickling down her cheeks, "Everything is lost. You shouldn't have done what you did."
"Hester," I said, my voice gentle, "I am a dead man already. These past seven years I have been cursed. I am free. Though I may die tomorrow for my sins, I am a happy man. I have done what was right, and thus, God will forgive me. Do not worry for my sake Hester." I put my hand up to her face and she cried into it, clutching to her cheek, closing her eyes against reality. We stayed like that for a long while until the morning sun drifted through the window. Then my lover, my friend, left quietly through the door, taking my soul with her.
In an hour I was summoned for my last journey to the gallows. They had done a good job, as far as I was concerned. Having only a night to make a sturdy hangman's resting place, I was forced to the wooden stairs and I slowly ascended the scaffold. I stood on the platform, gazing out at the entire square gathered in front of me to watch my, good lord, my, grisly execution. Yet the feeling of lightness did not leave me, and I felt no despair, thus I gazed out at my fellow people, staring into their eyes, and reflecting upon my choice. They despaired more than I. Those who had loved me had protested strongly upon my behalf, but in the end, Puritan law won out. Thus, I was to die, though no one wished it, upon this dreary day.
The hangman approached and tightened the thirteen-knotted loop around my neck and turned away. He descended the stairs to a wooden mechanism that would cause the boards at my feet to fall away, leaving me with no support but the rope around my neck.
My heart stopped as I met Hester's face. She was no longer crying; a firm resolve was stamped across her face, but I wished to tell her not to mourn for me. She had paid her price of the Scarlet letter for seven years. I was merely taking in my share of punishment. That look we shared conveyed everything I had ever wanted to say to her and more…
The executioner's hand tightened around the knob, clearly about to pull the lever which would end my life…
My eyes rested on Pearl. My dear Pearl. My child. Dressed in so bright a color that she would stand out among any crowd, her dark eyes sparkling with an intelligence and sadness so far beyond the mortality of man that I couldn't help but wonder what unearthly being she was.
The muscles in the executioner's hand flexed, and the scaffold platform swung away.
My last thought was of my Pearl. My angel, guiding me to Hell on her beautiful scarlet wings.