Death Row
"It's been ten days, since they chained my arms and legs and locked me behind these black iron bars. I was told that I was to be executed in ten days. I have an hour left to live in this rotting rat-infested cell," a large man told his cellmate, while staring at the stone ceiling with cold lifeless eyes. "Thank God."
"What did you do?" His cellmate asked. "Didn't they give you a trial?"
The man brought his eyes down to meet those of the man that he had been incarcerated with for the past few hours. He rubbed the shaggy, uneven beard that had began growing from his own chin and with a sigh replied, "No need for a trail. Everyone saw what I had done." He got to his feet, lifting his aching body, and walked over to the door of the cage made of metal and stone. "Hell. I killed for a living." He hung his head out to watch the guard dog sleep on the stairs nearby.
"So you were an assassin?"
"I might as well have been."
"What's your name?"
The turned around, not expecting the question. He bit his lip and began to scratch his head."
"So you don't have a name?"
"I do but. . ." the man backed away from the steel bars and sat down on the hard stone floor, "It's been so long since anyone's called me by it. I was always called 'The Ax Man'."
"Ax Man? What kind of assassin uses an ax?"
"I was always seen in public with a large ax over my shoulder, proud as could possibly be. Also, I said that I wasn't an assassin."
"What did you get caught for?"
"I killed an evil man. You see, I'm the one who had been entrusted with the task of sending final judgment on the truly wicked and cast them into the pits of Hell, but I murdered someone, a nobleman, who, dispite the atrocities that he was a part of, my superiors had given a pardon to as he laid at my feet. I knew what he had done. He was disease that needed a cure. So I--"
"Alright you two! Shut up!" Interupted a raven-haired man wearing the official seal on his black coat shouted as he unlocked the door to the cell and flung it open to where it slammed against the next cage over, rattling the eardrums of of the two men.
"I guess it's my time to go," the muderous prisoner said, holding out his hands for the official to shackle.
"You're correct," the official replied as he bound the man's hands together behind his back and began to lead him up the stairs, ordering one of the guards to lock the cage back up.
"So long!" His jail mate called. "I hope to see you again tomorrow! I'm sure there's a special place in Hell for the two of us!"
The twisting staircase seemed to go on without end to the man. His mind began to wander to his life and occupation before his ten days of incarceration. He looked at the official and asked, "Are you the one? The one to end my days?"
The official didn't reply, but instead, began to walk slower as if to drag out the suspense.
"I still remember my first kill, unfortunately," the man said aloud, so that the echoes may have reached his prison mate. "My superiors tried to make it easy by making my victim a mass murder, one of this countries worst. It took me only till my fourth criminal before I had gotten used to the weight of my ax, but I was never able to get used to the crimson blood, which spewed from their necks. Eventually, it didn't matter to me if they were a rapist or a merchant who stole from the king. I killed them all."
He squinted his eyes as the first bit of sunlight that he had seen in over a week pierced through the darkness of the stairs. Screams and murmurs echoed in as their audience came into view. The two walked out onto a wooden deck with a blood splattered block in the center.
"Get going!" The official snapped, forcing the criminal to the floor in front of the block. He then walked out in front of the crowd and unrolled a scroll. "Jacob Frish, you are charged with the murder of nobility. The obvious punishment, of which, is death!" He declared before rolling the scroll up and tucking it away in his coat. He ordered the man to get on his knees and place his neck over the block as he slipped a black hood over his own head.
"I'm sorry, but I can't pay you," the dead man apologized as he did what he was told of him.
"Don't worry, I've already sharpened my blade to perfection. I'll make sure that you don't suffer, Mr. Ax Man."
The man closed his eyes and asked his grim reaper, "In that case, could I have one last request?"
"What is it?" The official then asked, raising his sword into position."
"Tell my cellmate that my name is 'Jacob' and that I was an executioner."
