The air was heavier. He had been aware of the implications of the sentence—well, the implication—but he hadn't felt them until he took that breath. Beyond the clearing, into the forest where the trees were so dense you could barely see the sky overhead, he finally felt it, finally saw it: a small wooded box with a blade dangling from above. It was large, rusty, dull. A sudden terror seized him from the inside, and he realized he had never fully realized what was going to happen until now. He would be forced to lie on his back with his arms trapped in a wooden box, and he would see the blade flash as it ripped down to his throat.
He realized how cruel this was. Had it been a needle, or a gun, there would be a chance it wouldn't work, that something could go wrong. He would have hope; with the guillotine, not only was there no hope for escape, it forced its victims to share the hope of their prosecutors: that it worked. For only doing half the job would—if something went wrong, that is—
He turned his head to the side, peering past the man who had hold of his shoulder, and nodded at Adam's quiet stare. He tried to smile, but either Adam didn't notice or Adam saw right through it.
He had hoped Adam wouldn't come but supposed he had no choice. To be honest, he was surprised the crowd was as large as it was; he saw the familiar faces, the ones that had taken pity on him, the ones that thought him the devil, but what he saw most of all was a stunned fascination. He had hoped they would hate him, cheer on his executioners. In that way he could cheer through them vicariously and lessen to some degree the anxious dread that was filling him now.
His breath quickened as the people took their places around the contraption. He found it difficult to make eye contact with any of them, and he couldn't see Adam any more. That was good, at least. Maybe it was reciprocal. Had he had more time, he thought he would have done things differently: he would have made sure things were right, or different, or something. It could have been better, anyway. And then he realized how stupid that was. If he'd had more time, he'd have done nothing different, and in twenty years or whenever it was his natural time, he'd be thinking the same thing now: how he would be different if only he had more time.
The man who had been holding his shoulder suddenly pushed him, and he stumbled forward in the grass, almost tripping on an exposed root. A shudder of quiet snickers slipped away from the crowd. He swallowed as Adam came back into view, pushing his way through the mass of people.
"You got anything to say?"
He froze, though he was aware he had nothing to say. After all, if they hadn't believed him before, they wouldn't believe him now—and why should they? It was lying that got him here in the first place. He shifted his feet as though to say something but was aware he was only buying time.
"Boo!" someone from the crowd suddenly jeered. The whole body took on a liquid shape, with people turning to see where the cry had originated, and in their eyes he could see something like a light glowing brighter. A fire slowly burned inside their stares, and as the tension grew stronger, so did the muted dance of their anxious feet. "Lop it off already!" another drawled. "Yeah," some others chimed. "We don't need his kind 'round here!"
His breathing stopped as the man grabbed his shoulder and pulled him towards the blade. An explosion of light hit his eyes as the sun lit upon his face, and it was then that he realized it was late afternoon. The sun had taken on its red dress of autumn, burning a hole into the sky, and the leaves had started to turn as well. The howls of pack dogs from far away whipped around the trees, around and through and in the people, as though their commotion had stirred them from their sleep. As though they knew what was about to take place and were laying claim to the remains.
The toothless grin of evening's cool wrapped around him like a blanket and the breeze that bounced off his arms and face and the twists of setting sun through the branches—he had once loved these things. Autumn evenings were one of the two things he had ever truly loved, and it was only fate, he supposed, that in the end both would bear witness to his death. At least that way he might be remembered.
He was shoved down upon his knees. The crowd's cheering had become a dull roar, a sound which he was aware was being made but which was carried by the breeze: he didn't hear it, but it rubbed against him, touched his ears like a buzzing fly. The only sound he could hear was the sound of Adam's eyes staring down at him, unflinching and unco-opted by the restlessness of his surroundings. The noise a single tear made when it hit the soil was the loudest thing he'd never heard, and all at once his lungs heaved open as a gasp of air rushed to greet him. A spark had caught the oxygen on its way down and a fiery pain erupted through his throat to the back of his eyes.
He struggled against the chains in futility, which only warranted a louder and more aggressive mob. The man motioned several others over, and they all bent down and picked him up limb by kicking limb and laid him in his final seat. They forced his arms above his head and locked him into the device. He jerked his arm hard, rattling the box, but it didn't break free. He tried the other arm, and while it seemed to loosen somewhat, he knew time was not on his side, and that even if he did escape there was a group of people more than willing to finish the job.
He almost didn't feel the coil around his leg until he saw it: a yellow snake had wound itself around him and appeared to be looking at him straight-on. His violent twitching against his shackles stopped as their eyes locked, both completely still. Its tongue darted out of its mouth when it tilted forward slightly, poising itself to bite.
"Tell them to stop."
His eyes widened and he blinked several times.
"Tell. Them. To stop."
"Stop!" he involuntarily yelped. "STOP!" He kicked his leg, attempting to shake it, but the snake had a firm wrap on him.
The mob's cruel laughter only intensified.
"Stop! Don't you hear it?" he pleaded. He looked up to the man who was gazing down at him, perplexed. "You don't hear it!?"
"Shh!" The man held up his finger and, as though he were their leader, the entire group fell into silence. "Shh."
He was still kicking his leg when he heard it too: in the distance, a child was shrieking. The crowd was motionless before everyone dispersed into small search parties that quickly abandoned the punishment site. He struggled in vain against the snake and his cuffs as it slid up his leg and onto his waist. Its tongue slipped out once more, this time longer, and sniffed him more fully. He looked straight up and saw Adam bending over his face. Adam looked one way, then the other, before reaching down to open the cuffs. "Are you okay?" Adam asked quickly as he fidgeted with the lock. "How did you know—?"
"Adam, I—"
The snake flung itself forward and snapped down hard along his neck. He was briefly aware of a pain before the trees and Adam's face and the sky swirled together and deepened to black.
