The sun was setting, bathing the forest in a dim orange glow. The ground was covered in a thick layer of half-rotted leaves, and the air was cold; every breath that Alex took stung in the back of his throat and caused a slight ache in his chest. There was a sharp taste in his mouth, like metal.

Everything felt just right, just perfect. His head felt so clear it was making him a little dizzy.

The rope in his hand was rough and prickly and hurt his palm whenever he pulled, but once he secured it he would be done. Just a little more... He leaned back, digging his heels into the ground, and with some effort reached one hand further up the rope and pulled down with all his strength... Then again... There. Perfect. He looped the rope around the large metal spike driven into the side of the tree, where the second rope was already tied, and knotted it securely. Wiping his sweaty palms against his sweater and breathing heavily, Alex walked around the large pile of sticks and logs, then stood back to admire his handiwork.

Suspended from a thick branch of the huge pine tree was what looked like a human figure, but limp enough to be a scarecrow. He was hanging by his arms, each bound by a separate rope hung over the branch and tied to the metal spike below. He was dressed in a black suit and tie, which contrasted sharply with the worn-out white sneakers on his feet. His head drooped limply, his eyes were closed, and if you looked closely you could see a trickle of blood dripping down one side of his face. He made quite the sight, swinging lightly back and forth in the November breeze high above the ground. Alex stood looking at him for a few minutes, as the light started to fade from the sky.

Reaching into his pocket, Alex pulled out a box of matches. He ran a thumb contemplatively over the corners of the box, playing with it in his hand without taking his eyes off the hanging figure. Soon, the man's head began to twitch upwards.

"Alex?"

His voice was rusty and pained, so quiet that the name was almost lost on the wind before it reached its owner.

Alex knelt down in front of the wood pile, directly below the hanging man, and attempted to light a match.

"What... Aaargh..."

The man shifted his shoulders and upper body uncomfortably, finally fully aware of the intense pain in his arms, which were being stretched almost out of their sockets, holding up his whole body weight.

Alex got a match to light, and he held the flame to the crumpled newspapers he had shoved beneath the wood.

Once the fire had spread to the twigs, and he was sure it was not going to put itself out, Alex took several steps back to watch again impassively.

The hanging man was now awake and conscious enough to realize what was happening. His eyes rolled back and forth between Alex and the fire, his expression filled with terror. He struggled slightly, helplessly swinging his legs and causing even more pain in his arms. He was starting to feel the heat growing beneath him, the smoke rising around him, chocking his breath and making his eyes water.

"Alex... Why..?"

"I'm sorry, Jay," Alex leaned back against a nearby tree, ready to watch the show late into the night. The last yellow rays of daylight had faded, to be replaced with a silver and blue glow at the edge of the sky. "I told you not to follow me."