Prologue
He wore black jeans a striped shirt and black Ugg boots. His long hair was tied back with a dark ribbon. "You're right," he said, "it was murder, but it was not a crime." Confusion dripped like a leaky faucet, spilling more and more of its icy fluid onto the soil of unanswered queries.
"What would you like your dying words to be?" The second asked. The first smiled sorely. "The scar I bear was there for a long time. Many things have happened since I got it, but its changed me. In which way its changed me, you can decide. All I know is that, that scar is the reason why I killed him." The rope lowered and tightened around his neck.
In the distance a train rolled on its tracks. The sound of trains always reminded him of that day. It was the day he would much rather forget, but forgetting was much harder than one can believe. He used to love the sound of rain against a window, he loved the smell of rain in the dirt and he loved the taste of great satisfaction when he pleased his father. He also used to love his friends and above all his family.
Not after what he discovered. That was dead to him now. All thanks to that bloody scar in his bloodied hand. Going back a couple of years would be best, but that would never happen. Gallows Manor was now literally Gallows Manor. Not only did they chop people's heads off in the court yard, but they also preferred hanging. It saved bullets and time. Nowadays time was the most important thing one could posses. In those days all he had was time.
He remembered the time when he was so angry he couldn't even speak. He remembered his talent for killing and how much he liked it. He remembered how he was able to describe his childhood in three words: It was shitty. And he remembered the love he had for the one person that meant the world to him. That person was the only one able to save him from the madness.
He thought he would go through with it- until he heard the voice of the one he loved. What that person said was the hardest thing he had ever heard in his entire existence. Yet... now he was to die at the hands of that person and it must be equally hard to his loved one as it was to him. How could either of them even consider killing the other? It was unthinkable...
He was about to be hung by the noose and his friend, that couldn't be classified as his friend, would be the executioner. He closed his eyes and smelled the wind. It licked his nose and invited him to play along. 'Soon, my friend, I would be alongside you and drift through existence. Then we can play for all eternity it the land of the lost.'
It seemed like everybody in the court yard held their breath as the prosecutor read his crimes. All he had done since that day was perfectly summed up onto one paper. How absolutely degrading! He had worked and he had fought for his rank and they violated it and made it sound filthy!
Maybe it was. That was probably the reason he was here...no that is why he's here. He has to pay for his sins and death is the best way possible. Some people were simply sent to jail for life, but what remained of the bars could not possibly be able to contain prisoners anymore. Not at all.
Nostalgia crawled along- hand in hand with a smile. He remembered that day. It was possibly the best day of his life even though he hadn't thought so at the time. Blowing up the jail was exciting and fun! That was moot now.
Most people would spend their childhood going to the beach, throwing dirt clods around or bragging about useless accomplishments. Normal people wouldn't be standing with a noose wrapped around their neck listening to all the crimes they have committed. Regular people would've run away when they saw a stranger standing in an alley.
Oh no- not him! He had to go and attempt friendship and the cost of his life. He had to go and sell his soul and be dragged down to a level so low that ground looked down upon him. Because he wanted to get revenge on the one who only had what's best in mind for him. Funny how a person can realize these things when it's too late.
Funny how someone can throw their entire life away with a simple handshake and an irremovable scar. Laughter wasn't really connected to the word funny at this moment, irony was its companion instead. Pure horrific irony.
The executioner tightened his grip around the lever. They met eyes; both silently saying their goodbye's. Never would they see each other again- and that was what gave the man heartache. Not even his death could affect him as much as now, simply the thought of never seeing the one he loved ever again caused a single tear to leave his eyes. That was the first tear he had shed in years.
Their eyes met. The mask covering his face was stony and revealed no emotion as he pulled the lever...
... and all went black.
"Great is the art of beginning, but greater is the art of ending."
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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