The Guillotine (revised)

The color is drab that is draped across their large frames. They stood over me, while I knelt. My hands, now bound behind me with my ankles. I stare, into a basket of blood, and make my silent peace with god. A prayer of strength makes my lips quiver as hope of the unknown lay before me, in a wicker full of severed heads. The crowd full of by-standers (hypocrites), gawked and moaned with children at their sides. I could hear the frivolous voices of the women, claiming in the most dainty of speech: �What a horrible man, surely he will pay the price in hell.� Statements are made only behind the backs of those unaware, or incarcerated.
Waiting, the smell of spilled blood reminds me that guilty is a much stronger word than innocent. But I know, that in the rows of sinners amongst sinners staring at me, that the truth hid behind the eyes of one of them. That they had held my true fate and not the blade that looked down from 10 feet above the nape of my neck. Not the men in the black guised robes, holding the rope, holding my last breath in their hands, patiently awaiting word on the truth, the injustice that may drop on me, ending my freedom. The truth has indeed been kept inside of a gasp of the true criminal. He would have to exhale, sooner or later and his breath shall be the symbol of the corruption that has been bestowed upon me. Truth be told, whether my head lie body-less in a wicker, with a clean cut to the neck, or if I was to walk upright once more, chin held above my feet , attached while I breathed the free air. Any moment now...
A shadow enters my sight and a deep toned voice makes a noble apology. (He is at no fault, as this is his job). The creak of the rope raises the blade and is now held higher than is was before. The peace I had hoped came over me in a wave of grace. Images of my youth, so innocent. Sounds of babbling streams behind fields of daisies. Dreams of a full life in the soft grass. Kneeling to pick the dandelions, blowing its white feathers, watching them flutter in the breeze. The simple child's life, of endless games and callow youth undeveloped in my feeble mind. Looking up at the clouds while they make shapes of dif

Reviews

[Woody]

gripping tale that flows nicely. the ending is the cherry on the pie.
good job.

[George Dowling]

I really enjoy how you really capture the sudden end of life with ending here. I have written stories where characters come to their end but this is something I never would have thought of. Kudos to you. Keep it up.

[Mike Mitchell]

Excellent. Excllent. Excellent. This is wonderful. It reminds me of Neil Gaiman. I love the cut at the end - brilliant.