• They stand in line; one by one they march towards Death. Their shackles clank against each other, making a haunting song which numbed the ears of the drunken victims.
    A child was among them, a boy of no more than eleven. His blonde hair was brown with black blood, blood from the crime he didn’t mean to commit. His bright amber eyes were wide with fear, glancing back and forth between the gallows and the bystanders on the side.
    His mother was among them, her face was void of emotion, but he could see the hate shinning in her golden eyes. He remembered how happy she looked before all this happened. Then, the great sadness came, when she found him in a pool of crimson. She screamed and called him a murderer, her eyes wide with fear. He tried to explain that is was an accident, with his orange tinted eyes welling with tears.
    “Mother please understand! I didn’t mean to kill him! I didn’t mean to, please Mother, don’t call me a murderer!”
    “You killed your Father, Matthew! You are a murderer! The devil’s spawn, a vile demon!” She pulled his hair roughly, pulling him up to standing height and dragged him out the door, leaving a trail of blood to continue down into the sewers. His nose stung as he took in the salty air, a smell so different from the intoxicating scent of blood and death. His eyes stung as his Mother pulled his hair rougher, muttering under her breath. He opened his mouth to ask her where she was taking him, but she answered before he could even speak.
    “You are going where all murderers go, the gallows. When you die, you won’t be going to Heaven; no you’ll go to Hell and serve you punishment to the Devil.” His face twisted in confusion, lips moved to form the words that would never come, thoughts closed over the fact that his death was coming just before his last sunset, eyes blurred with tears that his own Mother was sending him to the gallows, and a heart raced with a cold fear. He was going to die.
    He was going to die and just before the age of twelve.
    He couldn't believe it, he told his Mother he was sorry and didn’t mean to do it. How could she be so cruel? Calling him the Devil’s spawn, then that made her the Devil’s whore. His thoughts were stopped short by his Mother pulling him up to standing height, again.
    Her face was twisted with rage, a burning hate raging in her eyes; she looked at her only son with disgust, how could she have raised such a child?
    “Here we are. Stop crying, your tears are pitiful. You should have thought about it before you killed the man who called himself you Father.” She spat at him, raising her hand to slap him on one pale cheek, leaving a rosy handprint. She dragged him through the metal bared doors that marked his prison until sunrise. She proceeded to talk to the main man at the front, spitting out her words like they were a toxic poison. The man looked at him with utter disgust, spitting out his words too.
    “How could you kill the old preacher? You really are the Devil’s spawn, killing you own Father. You really are going to Hell, brat.” He glared at Matthew with hate, eyes just like my Mother he thought bitterly.
    “I’ll take it from here, Miss Knight. I’ll deal with him.” The man said, pulling Matthew from his Mother’s grip and taking him into his own hands. His Mother smiled at the man, thanking him for his time, and left without a second look at Matthew. The man kept his eyes straight ahead, not even glancing back at Matthew as he dragged him to his cell.
    “Look boys, you have a new cell mate.” The man chuckled as he threw Matthew into his cell, where he was caught by a pair of long arms stained with blood. “Play nice now.” That was the man’s last sentence before he left Matthew with his new family.
    “Lookie what we have here, boys, a pretty little birde.” The man who caught Matthew cooed out, his acidic green eyes flashing with a sinister look. The other men laughed and moved towards them to get a better look at Matthew.
    “Looks like we’re gonna have some fun tonight, eh boys?” One of the men said. His fingers holding on to Matthews jaw, looking deep into his eyes.
    “Oooh, and look at the pretty eyes he has! Sure is a pretty birde. We are gonna have some fun tonight, Al.” The last man laughed out, his only eye wide with excitement.
    Matthew whimpered with fear as the men closed in on him, feeling every inch of his tainted skin. His eyes welled with tears again, realizing that this night was worsening by the second.
    “Now, now don’t cry little birde. This won’t hurt…much.” The first man laughed out, tainted lips capturing his own…
    The next morning he awoke to sainted cheeks and a beaten body. He looked around the room for the men, and to his relief they were nowhere to be seen. He got up slowly, collected his clothes and sat on his bed peering into the dark abyss of sea outside his window. He stayed there until his jail cell was opened and the man who was at the front told him to get up. He put shackles on his wrist that clanked against each other as he walked. His eyes burned as they met the bright glare of the sunrise. The sun even wants me dead, he thought. He was pushed roughly into a growing line of people who were to meet their demise at the guillotine.. The people ahead of him gave him a glare when they were pushed, but their glares softened when they saw he was merely just a child.
    Some voiced their options on hanging a child, but were beaten by the guards; others merely kept their thoughts to themselves. Bystanders even voiced their thoughts, crying out that a child shouldn’t be hung, no matter what they did. Matthew silently agreed with them, wishing his Mother would understand. He kept steadily along with the pace of the walking bodies as they came closer to their death, looking down at his bare feet all along the way.
    It was his turn now. He made it to the wooden stand where his weapon of demise lay; silently smirking back at him, glad to be the one to kill him.
    The black masked executor grabs a nearby barrel and sets Matthew upon it, so he is standing just below it. He then places the rope around his neck loosely. The rope is itchy around his neck, stinging the pale flesh of his neck, it almost…hurts. Matthew closes his eyes, a silly smile placed on his lips, and with tears falling from under his closed lids, he finally accepts Death.
    Bystanders and prisons alike scream and cry out that a child shouldn’t be hung, that it goes against all morals. The crying and screaming almost hurts Matthews ears, he wants it all to stop.
    I’m sorry, Mother.
    More screaming
    More crying
    More shouts of, “KILLING A CHILD IS IMMORAL!”
    More words never said before
    More regrets
    And then
    Silence.