A Hanging

A Story by Samarra

A woman's thoughts suring her last few days alive.

The dark is unbroken, stifling, until the suns outside rise and the three small beams of light once again shine across the stone floor. As the first sun makes its short trip across the sky, the lights brighten and dim. This is the only way I know how to tell time, these days.

By the time the second sun is low in the sky, the footsteps return. They are heavy, and definitely male. They move down the corridor outside the heavy wood door to my left. The periodical pausing of the feet and the subsequent thud of similarly heavy doors makes its way to me.

It is the only interaction I have with another person. I don’t know the man; I have never spoken with him, but, still it is enough to know there are others alive in this beautiful world.

I can remember the smell of the air outside, the sweet fragrance that floats along every gust of wind from the direction of the garden. I have never seen the garden, it was not within my place to go there, but I can imagine it. I have spent many lazy days dreaming of what the garden looks like. Sadly, I have no more days to spend in such a manner.

The footsteps approach my door now. The food shoved into the room is pitiful and only sufficient enough to keep me alive for a little while longer. I can almost imagine a chuckle coming from the other side of the door, as the man and his heavy footfalls leave me once more to my quiet oblivion.

Instead of bothering to eat the food, I simply raise my body up onto my knees and interlace my fingers to begin the daily prayers.

There is a strange peace that settles throughout my body as I work my way through the chants and calls for blessings. I don’t know how long I take to finish, and I don’t care. The mice have made off with most of my dinner, leaving only what wasn’t fit to eat in the first place. I kick it into a corner, filled with similar offerings, and stretch out on my stomach.

The thoughts of earlier return, and I am once again lost in the past. The feeling of soft earth under my feet, so much warmer and alive than the stone I currently lay on, is something I miss terribly. Simpler days, when all I thought about was whatever held my interest at the time. The languid afternoons of summer and early fall, spent learning various dances and laughing among old friends, carry me into a rare peaceful sleep.

It could be hours, days, or minutes before I wake again. I have no way of telling. The hunger that awakened me makes its presence know loudly. I move towards the door, feeling for a stray bit of food left by the man. There is nothing but a piece of stale bread and a rusted cup filled with a sweet watered down juice.

Somehow, I know that it is the day that I have been waiting for. I feel none of the emotions I expected. There is no anger, no fear. Just calm.

I know what it means. I belong where I am, and I know that for certain. My actions up until now had only one possible outcome. This was it.

I have accepted this, and apparently, so have the gods and goddesses that watch over me.

I know they will be fair, and my fate is left to them. If they see fit to cut my string out of the tapestry of life, then that is what must be. I will join the souls of my friends in the Western Plains. And the balance will be restored.

The beams of light appear again, and today, I simply watch them for their beauty. The light in my kingdom is unlike that of any other. The suns shine their red-gold light down upon our cities, but the vegetation here releases chemicals that cause the light to look almost purple as the largest star rises and sets. The air almost seems to sparkle during these few minutes.

If I could have asked for one thing, it would have been to see that sight from a hilltop somewhere. But I don’t have that privilege here, nor will I ever, now.

Today the footsteps come and go, passing my door entirely. I am certain now that it is my last day in this dark abyss. And I am still at peace. The footsteps will return long after the beams of light fade. I wait on the floor by the door, too weak at this point to even stand on my own.

As I hear the man coming to fetch me, I can make out the sound of many sets of feet following behind. My mother will be among these, as will the locale Viscount. I have seen neither in a long time, and will not see them tonight. The footsteps will be the only one to enter, and before leading me away, he will blindfold and gag me.

It is a terrible sight to see, but I am glad they will be forced to watch my malnourished body struggle to keep me on my feet. I want them to feel the pain I felt, when I was forced to watch my son and daughter lead away in much the same manner. They deserve the discomfort, brief though it will be.

The door is opened all the way, but it is almost as dark in the corridor as it is in the room. All I can make out is the lurking figure of the man before he wraps a silken cloth around my eyes. A similar cloth is then forced between my lips, and the man grabs my thin arm. He pulls me up gently, but there is a hint of his brute strength in grasp.

I cannot tell which way we go, or how many turns we take, as the footsteps pull me along after them. I can feel the glares on my back, but the people following us are not allowed to speak to either the man or I. There are here to watch, and that is all they will do.

Eventually, we stop. The man physically lifts me, and carries me up a flight of stairs. I can tell this is our destination, for the others do not shadow us onto the platform.

I have been to this place before. I know it’s every detail. It is burned into my memories, and haunts my dreams; but tonight, it will be my release.

In this room, I lost my son, my daughter, and countless friends. I watched as their souls slowly left their bodies. I saw their pain and suffering. But it will be different for me.

This Plain no longer holds anything for me. There are no ties that exist strong enough to keep me here. So I will leave, and I will do so with a smile. And I pray that that smile will haunt those here, just as this room haunted me.

The man sets me down on a wooden platform, and slowly guides my body to lean against the post next to me, so he can leave the dangerous trapdoor but keep me on my feet.

Before he retreats he lowers a loop down over my head, and tightens the knot in the back, making sure it will serve its purpose and not break.

My rope necklace fits perfectly.