The Falling

The mists of death spun and danced like a macabre carousel, watching them both. Upon the tree of limbo hung the cage which held the freedom of the wary. The prisoner gazed intently at his doom; for the first time in an age, his mind had awoken and was ready. The same could not be said for the headsman. His long forsaken soul, stirred now, restless for the prisoners blood.

            Within the headsman’s gnarled, aged hand was a long length of rope. He strode wearily towards the cage, the slipknot swaying in his hand, holding the eye of it’s beholder. A large rusted skeleton key slipped within the lock. The simple metal mechanical device had acted like a bulwark, holding back his escape. As the lock fell free, to thud upon the dirt and send stiletto like blades of pain into his mind, the ancient binding chains of his isolation shattered, releasing him from his pain.

            The prisoner crumpled on the floor. Lying on the ground, his bones protruding from his taut flesh like sharp spears. His skull was visible through his milky flesh. One large reached down, grabbing the dishevelled creature by the arm and lifting it to it’s feet. Without a word, the headsman led the prisoner to the chopping block.

            The journey, consisting of but twelve feet, nearly killed him. As his life started to fade, the mist stirred and grabbed, clasping at his skin, unable to find handholds on his emaciated exterior.

            A gently shove laid the condemned soul on the block. His mind screamed for him to think, his soul ached for release, his body groaned for rest. All the conflicting voices burned within him. A single tear fell from his parched eyes.

            The prisoner was not the only one with a desire for release. Looming above like a mighty god of death, the headsman’s desire for soft, necrotic soil to encompass him was like a beast trying to escape. With a mighty effort; the last his shattered soul could muster, he took control of the beast.

            Decisively, the headsman dropped the noose, instead opting for the axe. Slowly, pointedly, he stood over his last task, axe hefted to the mist.

The End

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