Mirth

Poem and question

The flavor of mirth scents the air as the gargoyles stare down from their featherwood merlins. The vista grants a vision of cobblestone square..

Where a man walks up to the gallows alone.

He strides in his favorite denim shirt, two small leather britches and boots handed down from his uncle who died in the great fire three years back.

He stands proud, unshaven as was his way, but his eyes.. a fire and determination unseen for millennia.

One step after another, with purpose.. intent. He mounts the reclaimed wood, from Dairy Mables shack. She died of plague. At least her home was put to some use. The cows were sold for slaughter in Massengaunt Flats two seasons ago. No one knows who pocketed those iron clips.

Three strides and the man let out a breath, he had been holding it since he turned down Bramble Crossroads. He reaches out with a hand that once slapped Giddy Plummer for hiding his good rake.. he always regretted that.. but he never had the courage to bring it up. He just never got close.. neither did she.. a silent agreement.

Looping the rope around his neck.. in a flash he pulled the lever. The bottom dropped and his thoughts cascaded upwards until he heard the final snap.

Was he a penitent man?