Sunshine In The Gallows

Ben Bradley was sentenced to death by hanging for killing George Franklin's wife, Penny. She lived up to her name, that woman did. She was bright and small, with copper-colored hair to top it all off. Franklin tried to keep the smile off his face. This was proven to be very difficult, for Franklin had the best seat in the house. The "house" was really just the town's center.
The bustling of hasty shoppers, running children, shouting merchants, and whatnot had been cleared. The grand wooden platform that had took their places tried to obtain as much spotlight as possible. It didn't have much of a chance, however, as the main act proceeded up the steps that led to his death. He stopped and turned slowly to face the eager audience. Franklin admired that Bradley had stopped right at the platform's center point. An eye for detail; that's what made a killer into a killer that would never be caught.
At that moment, Franklin noticed something very peculiar about the criminal. Was he-? No, he couldn't be. But he was. Bradley was smiling. Not a maniacal, crazed smile. No, this was a smile that a child gave to their grandmother. This was a smile that a man greeted his neighbor with. This was a smile that brothers exchanged. Bradley's smile was sweet. Not forgiving; but sweet. While the executioner fitted the noose 'round his neck and while a man in a rumpled hat read aloud Bradley's sentence, Bradley just kept grinning. Franklin could swear that he heard Bradley humming to himself. Ah, yes. There he went. Singing as if in church, boldly for all on Earth and in Heaven to hear. The words belonged to a familiar funeral march, but Bradley dressed it finely in a cheerful tune.

"Days are grey
And nights are black
The ones we loved
Are never to come back
Drifting, dawning
Hope is shallow
Oh, their smile
Brought sunshine in the gallows
And yet still
The sun still taunts us
Free in Heaven
Whilst memories still haunt us
Sun shines on the gal-"

The platform dropped, the rope became taut, and Bradley's song turned into a high-pitched choking sound. Then silence. Franklin sighed. With relief or satisfaction, he did not know. He started whistling poor, good, innocent Bradley's little tune and thought about Penny.

You lived up to your name, you did, Franklin thought, bright. Small, barely reaching my shoulder, I remember. and just like a penny, you just weren't worth holding on to.