The Hangman's Day

Full Disclosure

I sit in a cold, stone cell, alone. My eyes take in the brightening of the sky through the sturdy iron bars crisscrossing the tiny window set high above my head. I stare nervously as the midnight blue sky gradually changes colors before settling into an impossibly pale blue. It's officially day. The dawn that usually brings so much hope to humanity now brings forth dread as the morning bells ring.

This is it. The last day breath will pass my lips. This is Hangman's Day.

Upon this day, I shall die, though I have committed no crime. 'Twas my father who murdered my beloved mother all those years ago. 'Twas my father who pushed her down the grand staircase of our large manor house. But my father wasn't about to let his own life end, that selfish bastard. Instead, he told the policemen that came to investigate that it was me who had pushed my mother. My own mother. I loved her almost more than I could bear, and after her death my heart shattered. It stopped beating, stopped caring. Of course, I still have a heartbeat. I'm still alive after all. However, my heart no longer held love. It was no longer filled with joy. It became empty, desolate even. Yes, my heart pumps blood through my veins. No, it no longer cares for anything this world has to offer. And now, sitting all alone in a cold prison cell, there is nothing more I want than to see my father in this position. He should be here to absolve for his sins against my mother and myself. But he's nowhere to be found, having disappeared the same day I was arrested. So here I sit, a young boy no older than seventeen, about to expire for a crime my father committed. I lament at the cruelty this world presents. I cannot wait until I am rid of it and once again in the safety and comfort of my mother's arms. I close my eyes, imagining what that will feel like. The embrace of a mother is like nothing else in this world. Whenever my mother would hug me, I remember the warmth. I remember feeling safe, like nothing could touch me. With this image in my mind, I drift away into the realm of hopes, dreams, and memories.

I wake with a jerk at the sound of angry yelling. Mama's mad at Papa again by the sound of it. I rub my eyes with the back of my hands and drag myself out of my warm, cozy bed. Quietly, I tip-toe across my room to the heavy, dark oak door and open it. Sticking my head out, I glance both ways and spot Mama and Papa near the big stairs. Just as I slip out of my room and start making my way towards them, Papa reaches out and pushes his hand roughly against Mama's shoulder. She staggers backward and trips on a long bulge in the carpeting. For a moment, she's suspended, only one foot on the edge of the top marble stair before she crashes down. She tumbles head over heels, her skull making a horrendous cracking sound as it collides with a stair edge before her body collapses flimsily in a disarray of limbs at the bottom. A terrified scream pierces the air and it takes me a minute to realize it's coming from my own mouth.
There's blood spreading in a puddle around my mother as I race to her, nearly falling down the stairs myself in my haste. I fall to my knees by her side, my trousers immediately wetting with my mother's blood. I'm too young to know it, but there's simply too much blood. The pool around her grows steadily as tears cloud my vision. I stretch out my hand and nudge her arm. She doesn't react, so I take to shaking her with jerky, panicked movements. "Mama? Mama, wake up! You have to wake up!" I scream hysterically. My beloved mother doesn't move, doesn't show any signs that she's heard my screams or felt my shaking. Servants come running, but they stop short at the gruesome scene before them. My wailing gets higher in pitch, breaking them out of their daze and they rush over, careful not to step in any blood. This proves a difficult with the ever growing quantity of the sticky liquid. Mari, my maid and nanny, wraps a thick arm around my shoulders and leads me away, ignoring my sobs of protest. I want to stay with Mother, but she forces me to walk with her back up the stairs and to my room. As we walk, we pass by my father. He's kneeling at the high point of the stairs, his hands fisted around the hair on top of his head, his mouth gaping, and his eyes wide. He seems frozen in this position as Mari and I pass. He doesn't make a sound or even blink. "What happened, mon enfant? (French: My child)" she asks gently in her lilting, sickly sweet voice and French accent. I take a shaky breath to calm myself before I speak, "Mama and Papa were arguing again!" I sniffle before taking a deep breath and continuing "They were being really loud, and woke me up. I went to see what was wrong, but I never got to ask." Another breath." I saw Papa push Mama and she" I choke out a sob "fell." I pause and look up at my nanny with hope shining in my eyes. "Will she be okay, Mari?" The elderly French woman looks down at the me. Putting her arms around my torso, she answers my question with slight hesitation. "I don't know, mon amour. (French: My love) I do not know." My eyes fill with tears and I bury my head into her shoulder. We sit that way for a long time, me crying softly and she stroking my head gently, singing French lullabies in my ear. Finally, after what feels like an eternity has passed, I fall asleep in my nanny's arms.