Interlude
Meanwhile, the soldiers check the door another time. And … it works. Oh, brilliant. Nothing to worry about. All will be to our full convenience this time. Fantastic. Lord, I think I can't stand up again.
I'm chewing the rings in my lip now, ignoring the pain in the teeth. I cough. I can't go back up there. Please, end it right now. I look at the soldier that still stands before me. I can't stand through another drum roll, not another time. I say, half because I'd really want him to, and another half because I want to see his reaction: "Shoot me." And he looks at me, and his eyes widen, and I see he is shaking in his boots. Just as much as me, and maybe a little more. Poor boy. And he stares down on me, sitting on the steps, and I stare up at him, standing there with his rifle, in his fancy uniform, probably less than half my age. Pretty boy, watching this old pirate die. Aye, I think, in that moment, on the steps of the gallows, awaiting my death for the third time this very special morning, this is the first time I do feel really old. And I smile, and I hear me saying: "It's alright." And I wonder … am I saying that to him, or to myself. He looks away then, and I see that he's struggling with his countenance.
Then, they are ordered to take me back up, and I am really not getting up with much energy this time. Hell, I am afraid. What is wrong with that trapdoor? I really can't cope anymore. When they bring me back up, I hear someone shout: "Don't waste any more time! Pull him up!" and I gasp. Doesn't that mean, excuse me asking very timidly and politely, doesn't that mean I'll strangle, and that it's going to be rather … slow? I hadn't thought that I would see it like this one day, but can't we give that trapdoor another chance? I'd rather you broke my neck quickly, you know? Please bring it to an end right now, and please do it fast, because I am not sure if I can keep standing very much longer. My hands are fists once again, and all blood seems to be gone from my fingers. And from my feet. I feel very cold suddenly.
The soldiers shrug, and they loosen the rope, so that it can be pulled up across the bar over our heads. All right folks, I really don't like this anymore. One of them steps forward and, for a third time, puts the noose around my neck. I stare at him, and I am breathing hard. He looks at me for a mere second, before he decides that my feet are by far more interesting.
I don't have much more time to look around, and they don't give me time to cry either, because they really seem determined to kill me this time, at any costs. But one thing I see, and that is a strand of bright red hair. Pearl. She came. And that paints a smile onto my face.