Tommy: Executioner

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Tommy's cheeks were still wet but the crying had subsided. Crying doesn't help anyone and it certainly doesn't solve anything. He was staring at his bedroom wall and tracing the edge of his desk with his right index finger. Up and down in a steady rhythm. The feel of the solid oak calmed him. Smooth. Predictable. Constant. This calmness continued to grow as his mind slowed down and found space to breathe in the emptiness. The serenity evolved and a determined focus grew in its womb. The concentration began. 

The noose loosened its grip around his throat, unraveled itself and slid down Tommy's arm to find rest in his hands. The focus strengthened with the measured strokes of the lacquered oak. Tommy's hands gripped the rope and tied it around his executioner's neck. It tightened as coherent thought returned. "A nice, neat circle. A nice, tight loop." Tommy knew the idea would come. It always did. He could not predict how or when or why, only that it would; the moment the man in black died.

Tommy continued to watch, continued to wait. "That's one helluva neck you got there." He stood amongst them, the mob, calling for the hatch to open and the big man to break. A show of brutality to entertain the jaded horde. A death to appease them, but just enough for today. They always wanted more. A quick death to distract them from their own slow demise.

The executioner seemed to stare back as blankly as Tommy eyed his wall. The black mask obscured his features and his eyes were sheltered in the dark, but Tommy could sense their gaze, could feel the bite of their beam. As the crowd's voice grew louder, the rope pulled tighter, squeezing the muscular neck now glistening with sweat. The dead man's veins bulged and throbbed in a futile effort to stave off the inevitable. 

Tommy heard the front door open and close. Frightened footsteps faded outside, as another pair headed for his room. His refuge. His time was short. There was no escape unless the man in black fell.

The mob was restless now, but a creak from the stage hushed them as the hatch began to give way. The executioner did not flinch. His hands were clasped in front of him and the dark holes in his mask bore straight through Tommy. "Fall you murderous bastard," Tommy muttered under his breath.

The footsteps stopped abruptly right outside the bedroom door, then paused. Tommy could feel the foul presence behind the worthless barrier. "Leave me alone!" It's not long now. 

"Any last words?" a voice from the sea of people inquired. There was a lull as the crowd anticipated the reply. Beneath the dark cloth a mouth stirred to utter a final curse.

First employed to bring you death
A cold hand to pull the lever
An icy gaze to stare into the eyes of the damned
With a merciless axe I cleave and sever

To bury the axe is justice to thee
Wash your hands of blood
But I am not the harbinger
Nor am I the first

Who calls for the executioner's head?
What will quench your thirst?

"Kill him! Kill him!" the unfazed masses responded. Who are you? Tommy heard his bedroom door's knob turn just as the man in black's platform gave way. There was an audible crack and a boisterous cheer. The executioner's muscles spasmed in his last moments, before his lifeless body swung gently in the air. In the instant of the dead man's passing Tommy felt a spark of inspiration. The feeling he knew would come. An idea to ignite the fire. A way to escape this horrible prison. In time, justice will be done. Patience was the key.

The crowd slowly filtered out of the town square, satisfied with the day's entertainment. Tommy walked against the flow of people and approached the platform. He walked up the stairs and stood in front of the newly dead. Fascinated, he examined the brute. A lean, powerful body floated hopelessly while the sun beat down from the heavens. Filled with a fresh supply of courage, Tommy reached to remove the macabre mask. 

His door was opening. But he did not react. First I have to see his face.

Tommy grabbed at the black cloth and pulled it away from the giant head. It was slumped forward and looking down, so Tommy crouched and gazed up at the face of the dead man. The mask slipped from his grasp and disappeared down the hatch.

The bedroom door was wide open now and Tommy slowly turned his head. The same. The same dead eyes he saw were now full of life again, gleaming in the dark. The executioner stood in the shadows of the hallway for a moment before taking a step into the light. Now there was no doubt left for hope. Tommy looked up at the hulking man's face, and saw the same eyes staring back. 

The eyes that defies the soul
The eyes behind a dark hole
The eyes of the tormentor
The eyes my father stole