Short #13: The Coming Dawn

This story has a little bit of history to it, my great-grandomother's grandfather and his brother were the only two children that came from her great-grandparents. This is a story dedicated to my great, great, great uncle...

The dawn is coming and I fear my maker now more than ever. At times like these I think I hate him – my brother – for his foresight. He said I’d be caught and he was right, kept praying by the fire for me to see the error of my ways and come on home. But I didn’t.

Now, as my time grows night and I stare at that barred window, I almost pray for a miracle, while the coming hue of the horizon painting my grim face for death in gold and purple. I can imagine how the townspeople will look at me, whispering and murmuring to one another, tails of a no named man with my eyes.

There is a clacking of leather heel on wood and I stand quickly, eyes wide and bloodshot, hands clammy, and body shaking. I’m not ready! Haven’t even confessed! But the door to the cell room doesn’t open and the steps retreat and fade away.

I’m trembling as I take my seat, thinking of my family again. I hope my brother gets a letter, hope he’s not in town today selling his stock, he doesn’t see my shameful death. I think of his little ones, of what he’ll tell them when they ask why I haven’t come by with treats in so long.

I hear boots again and this time the door opens, my heart leaping into my throat as the sheriff nods to me, it’s time. My hands are bound and he leads me out, solemn faced and all. The steps up the podium are big, bigger then they seem and just as I’m standing at the top, all eyes on me, I almost think I see my brother’s granddaughter, Faye looking at me. And as the rope is fitted around my neck, I see the shadowed face of a tall, sparing fellow, hand resting on a young boy’s shoulder…He looks like him.

You never know what you’ll see before you die…Sometimes, it’s what you least expect.