Post by Cabawaba on Oct 28, 2009 20:42:02 GMT -5
This is a story I wrote a while ago, extremely short but I thought it was nice. 
-________________________-
The wails emanating from inside the cast-iron cells could awaken the dead for miles on, send the guards into fits of insanity, and spur the senses of the neighborhood dogs. Yet, when Jean De'mache stept into the foul and dingy entranceway for the prison, he seemed unaffected by the severity of the sitiuation before him. He was to be killed and nothing could change that, no argument. While perhaps his life had been a glorious one, albeit dangerous, it seemed it would end in the barren darkness of a midnight lynching.
The opportunity for reconciliation had passed, almost definately, but Jean couldn't tear his mind away from some whimsical reminiscing. The twins in Peru, the Coffee shop in Amsterdam, and lets not forget the bonfire on the streets of Rome. He let out a half chuckle, ignoring the remarks from the guards, and leaned back against the stone barrier. A faint whisper could be heard from the cracks in the wall. 'The wind, perhaps?' Jean pondered. He doubted that any of the prisoners here who could still speak where willing to share a conversation with him. Yet again, however, the whisper could be heard through the crack of the walls.
"Jean?...Jean?" The voice was faint, for if Sr. De'marche had not been listening, the speech would have been drowned out by the moans and sorrowful cries emitted from the cells around him.
"Whose there?"
"Jean.. Its been a long time.." The man, as Jean had infered, had a rough voice. He had finished his screaming long ago, and was now burdened with the scars for the rest of his days.
"I don't know who this is.."
"Its..by god, I can't believe I remember my own name. Its Miguel, from Italy." Miguel! The pair of them had torn Italy to pieces, getting in heaps upon heaps of messes during the time.
"Why Miguel! I don't believe it..How did you end up here?"
"Many years ago, shortly after you left, I was involved in a heist from the capital. It ended badly, as you can tell."
" Ah yes, I heard about that. But I'd heard all the men had been killed! How did you manage to survive?"
"I'd hardly call this survival, Jean. I'm trapped within these cold walls until the end of my days."
Jean let escape a sigh, feeling a small bit of contention that he'd have a friend with him for the rest of his remaining life. While this was a surprise, He did not doubt the validity of Miguel's claims. Even if it was some loony who had met the afformentioned a certain time ago, atleast he would have some conversation for a while.
For many days and nights they passed whispers and secrets to each other between the iron gates. A tale here, a shared memory there, and it was all fine. "Remember the Gypsies we ran into outside Nova Scotia?" And they'd both have a short laugh.
But soon the day came for Jean to take his final walk. He and Miguel spoke for a long time, saying their prayers and goodbyes. Walking out through the entranceway this time, he felt a hint of sadness. Not to be dying, but to be leaving his friend behind to die in the cruel place. He almost asked if he could trade positions, and let Miguel get out early. But it was merely wishful thinking.
Jean De'marche ascended the stairs to the noose, and stopped short to ask the executioner a question.
"That man, Miguel, in the cell next to mine.. When is his exectution date?" The masked man looked sideways at Jean, confused.
"The cell next to yours was empty, lad." He started to turn, but then spoke again. " Its said that every man, before he dies here, gets visited by a friend from long ago. I've heard that how your friend ended up will decide your fate aswell. Tell me, what did this man say happened to him?"
Jean, shocked and dismayed, continue to speak quietly while trying to grasp the situation.
"He said..he was involved in a heist of the capital building, but he was locked in here. I swore all the men where dead..but.." His voice trailed off. He knew now his fate. Even the Executioner, behind his mask, wore a sorrowful expression.
"Bonne Chance."
The lever plunged towards the ground, the floor dropped, the rope tightened, and Miguel looked up from his spot in the cell towards the yard. His face grew somber and dark, as he seemed to fade away into the shadows.
"I'm sorry, dear friend." And for the rest of the night, all the men in the prison ceased their moans and wails of agony, and slept soundly on the cold and damp floor of their cells.
-________________________-
The wails emanating from inside the cast-iron cells could awaken the dead for miles on, send the guards into fits of insanity, and spur the senses of the neighborhood dogs. Yet, when Jean De'mache stept into the foul and dingy entranceway for the prison, he seemed unaffected by the severity of the sitiuation before him. He was to be killed and nothing could change that, no argument. While perhaps his life had been a glorious one, albeit dangerous, it seemed it would end in the barren darkness of a midnight lynching.
The opportunity for reconciliation had passed, almost definately, but Jean couldn't tear his mind away from some whimsical reminiscing. The twins in Peru, the Coffee shop in Amsterdam, and lets not forget the bonfire on the streets of Rome. He let out a half chuckle, ignoring the remarks from the guards, and leaned back against the stone barrier. A faint whisper could be heard from the cracks in the wall. 'The wind, perhaps?' Jean pondered. He doubted that any of the prisoners here who could still speak where willing to share a conversation with him. Yet again, however, the whisper could be heard through the crack of the walls.
"Jean?...Jean?" The voice was faint, for if Sr. De'marche had not been listening, the speech would have been drowned out by the moans and sorrowful cries emitted from the cells around him.
"Whose there?"
"Jean.. Its been a long time.." The man, as Jean had infered, had a rough voice. He had finished his screaming long ago, and was now burdened with the scars for the rest of his days.
"I don't know who this is.."
"Its..by god, I can't believe I remember my own name. Its Miguel, from Italy." Miguel! The pair of them had torn Italy to pieces, getting in heaps upon heaps of messes during the time.
"Why Miguel! I don't believe it..How did you end up here?"
"Many years ago, shortly after you left, I was involved in a heist from the capital. It ended badly, as you can tell."
" Ah yes, I heard about that. But I'd heard all the men had been killed! How did you manage to survive?"
"I'd hardly call this survival, Jean. I'm trapped within these cold walls until the end of my days."
Jean let escape a sigh, feeling a small bit of contention that he'd have a friend with him for the rest of his remaining life. While this was a surprise, He did not doubt the validity of Miguel's claims. Even if it was some loony who had met the afformentioned a certain time ago, atleast he would have some conversation for a while.
For many days and nights they passed whispers and secrets to each other between the iron gates. A tale here, a shared memory there, and it was all fine. "Remember the Gypsies we ran into outside Nova Scotia?" And they'd both have a short laugh.
But soon the day came for Jean to take his final walk. He and Miguel spoke for a long time, saying their prayers and goodbyes. Walking out through the entranceway this time, he felt a hint of sadness. Not to be dying, but to be leaving his friend behind to die in the cruel place. He almost asked if he could trade positions, and let Miguel get out early. But it was merely wishful thinking.
Jean De'marche ascended the stairs to the noose, and stopped short to ask the executioner a question.
"That man, Miguel, in the cell next to mine.. When is his exectution date?" The masked man looked sideways at Jean, confused.
"The cell next to yours was empty, lad." He started to turn, but then spoke again. " Its said that every man, before he dies here, gets visited by a friend from long ago. I've heard that how your friend ended up will decide your fate aswell. Tell me, what did this man say happened to him?"
Jean, shocked and dismayed, continue to speak quietly while trying to grasp the situation.
"He said..he was involved in a heist of the capital building, but he was locked in here. I swore all the men where dead..but.." His voice trailed off. He knew now his fate. Even the Executioner, behind his mask, wore a sorrowful expression.
"Bonne Chance."
The lever plunged towards the ground, the floor dropped, the rope tightened, and Miguel looked up from his spot in the cell towards the yard. His face grew somber and dark, as he seemed to fade away into the shadows.
"I'm sorry, dear friend." And for the rest of the night, all the men in the prison ceased their moans and wails of agony, and slept soundly on the cold and damp floor of their cells.
