Long Live The King (Peaky Blinders)

Evermore

(Tommy's P.O.V.)
I looked up at the door when behind it the sounds of keys dangling was heard. They are here - here for me. Two coppers stepped inside my cell, looking down at me with hatred and disgust. Like I was something brown upom the bottom of their shoes. My arms where roughly grabbed by the coppers and I was dragged across the hall of the depressed cell blocks. The fear drained my energy and I almost dropped to the floor but the men held me upright. "Thomas?" A familiar voice came out. I turned to look and saw Reynolds, who was also been dragged out of a cell. "Reynolds!" I calles back frantically as I tried to break free to go to his side, "what is happening?!" He called frealing out more and more. No matter what we said or did, the coppers didn't speak another word. Untill the two of us got guided around a corner into a new room. I breath got caught in my throat and I saw the sight in front of me. A pair of rope necklaces hung side by side of one another ontop of a wooden platform. The nooses swaying in the ray of sunshine that casted from the window behind them. The sight nearly seemed inviting at how calmy it was, in comparrison to its true purpose. The sound of ravens croaking, rising in pitch and seeming to come from the back of their throat. It's much deeper and more musical than a crow's simple, scratchy caw. I could hear the church bells echoe in the distance. I froze to my spot andy heart stopped beating for a second. No, no! No, this can't be happening. "You're hanging has been pulled forward by order of the home office" a copper stated into my ear, laughing along. My head turned to Reynolds, he had the same look that I held. Completely wide eyes in pure terror, a quivering lip that barely mouthed any words - prayers for help. Both of us got pushed forward, a harsh shove into the back, nearly making my stumble over. Forcing up the wooden steps to lead us to our death. The wood creaked under my weight. My heart rate pickes up again and I tried to control my breathing. Beside me Reynolds was standing still as a statue. Not able to move or settle down just a bit. The noose was pulled over our heads and Reynolds quivered scared as the rope touched his neck. This was it, our end - The rope stinging my neck as it was pulled even tighter - no king in sight, no Nicholas. One of the coppers wrapped his hand around the poke that would open the trapdoors below our feet, ready for the signal to do so. Below me, around 2.5 metres, was the ground that would catch the fall of my limp body when the deed was done and the rope was cutt. Around me became so quiet that it felt like I was under water. The church bells weren't ringing so clear to me anymore, the birds chriping had been drowned out. The sunlight even seemed to dim down. I closed my eyes and took in a deep shakey breath "in the bleak winter". I hold my breath, try to freeze time, thinking if I can just keep the air inside my lungs forever. Maybe I'll never have to face what comes next. But I breath, because I must, and when I open my eyes everyone is looking at me, and I know it's only begun: the end of me. And there's no way out of now. "Wait!". My eyes cast to the open standing door. Did I hear a voice or was I just imagining things? I have heard tales about people that are between the living and the dead that hallucinate, see or hear things. "Wait!". It came again. And the coppers heard it aswell, Reynolds did too. One was not waiting for the stranger who was making his way through the hallway. Pushing the previous copper away and pulling the stick himself. I didn't even get the time to yell as the trapdoor dissapeared from underneath me at the speed of a comet plummeting to the earth. Then I was hanging not far off from the ground and couldn't breath. I was trying to gasp for air and the need to claw at my throat arose, trying so hard to pull in any oxygen from somewhere. But there was nothing. I hear a noise, a creak. What is it? But I cannot answer my question. As I begin find myself getting surrounded by the dark.

Complete darkness. I try to stand, but the darkness stuns me. I take a step forward - I see a distant light - I gasp and lunge for it. I see it! A black, shimmering flame. I get closer, the reds and whites tones, a triangular door awaits. I move closer, familiar eyes, they burn into me. I take the flame - I cross the door - I see the other side - I look around. The inside of a caravan, one I had known from childhood. The silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain by the windows. Ravens cawing in the distance. While I nodded, there suddenly came a tapping. As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my caravan door. "A visitor" I muttered, "tapping at my caravan door". This tapping filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before. So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating "it's some visitor seaking entrance at my door. Some late visitor seaking entrance at my door. This it is and nothing more" Presently my soul grew stronger, hesitating then no longer. I opened the door. An empty field. The grass dry, the air heavy, a dark haze. I look up. I see the full moon. It lights the field around me. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, and the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Nicky". This I whispered, and my echo murmered back the word, "Nicky". Merely this and nothing more. Back into the caravan turning, all my soul within burning. Soon again, I heard a tapping, somewhat louder than before. "Surely" I said "surely that is something at my door". Let me see, then, what there is at, and this mystery explore. Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore. "its the wind and nothing more". Open here, I flung the door, when, with many a flirt and flutter, in there flew a stately raven. Not the least obeisance he, with mien of King or Queen, perched above my door. Perched upon a bookshelf above my caravan door. Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguilling me into smiling, by the grave and stern decorum of the countance it wore. "Though you are smaller and feathery, you sure are no craven" I said, "ghastly grim and ancient raven. Tell me what your lordly name is". Quoth the raven "Evermore". Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly and royaly. Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy. For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being, ever yet was blessed with seeing a bird above his door. Bird or beast upon the sculptured shelf above his caravan door, With such name as 'Evermore'. But the raven, sitting lonely on the bookshelf, spoke only that one word. As if his soul in that one word did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered. Untill I scarcelt more than muttered "why are you here?". Then the bird spoke "Live for Evermore". Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken. The Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling. I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and shelf above the door. Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking. Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird, what this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird meant in croaking "Life for Evermore". This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing. To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my core. This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining. And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting on the single bookself above the door. And his eyes have all the seeming of an angel. And the lamp light casting over him, throws his shadow on the floor. And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor. Shall be lifted. Live for Evermore!

Published: 21st of April 2024