| Serena |
| “You once told me that you don’t hate anyone or anything.” He looked up at me. “That’s changed,” he said, standing up. “I know you hate him, but do you want to die with those feelings sullying your heart?” “My hate dies with him,” he pronounced, turning his face away. “Yes, he is dying shortly. You will, too, if you do not ask for mercy,” I went to him, but he jerked away. “A wise man once told me that every man dies, but not every man really lives. I have lived. I’ve loved. And now I will die free.” “I cannot bear the thought of your torture,” I whispered. “Then don’t think of it.” “I… I can’t stay with you any longer or I’ll say something that can’t bear saying,” I turned my back on him. “ I love you; you know that,” and with that, I rushed out. * * * * The people flocked to Gedaen’s execution. This was the man who had turned traitor on their king and country, and they would watch him die with pleasure. They brought him in the square tied to a cross, pulling it along on a cart with two black horses. Standing on an upper balcony, I wept at the sight of him. He looked so calm and noble, with his head held high. They pulled him onto the platform and the magistrate sneered at him before turning to the crowd. “Now you shall behold the price one must pay for the awful charge of treason,” he shouted, throwing an arm behind him to indicate Gedaen. The crowd cheered. Then he turned to Gedaen and gently told him, “Or confess all, pledge allegiance to the King, and you shall be granted his mercy.” Gedaen stared straight ahead. “Stretch him,” the magistrate ordered. They put a rope around his neck and pulled him up in the air. He hung there, gasping and choking as I gasped and sobbed. The crowd cheered louder. They dropped him at a signal from the magistrate, and he lay on the platform, gulping for air. “Enough?” the magistrate asked him, and when Gedaen did not reply he snarled, “Rack him.” This time the ropes went around his wrists and ankles, and they drew him up and stretched him, using the horses to pull at the ropes on his ankles. Gedaen groaned softly as his body was stretched, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. The magistrate looked on with a cold smile on his face, and the crowd cheered louder still. “Had enough yet?” the man asked, having Gedaen tied onto a cross set horizontally on the platform. He gestured to the executioner, who slit Gedaen open with no hesitation. I stood watching numbly as my love writhed in pain, gasping for breath. “Just say the word and you’ll feel no more,” the magistrate urged. “Come on, cry it out. Just say it: mercy. Mercy!” The crowd stopped cheering and grew silent. Then one man shouted, “Mercy!” and the whole assembly erupted into cries of “Mercy!” Gedaen sucked in air, and the magistrate called for silence. “The prisoner will speak.” Gedaen threw his head back, and screamed, “Serena…” As the executioner’s axe fell, I began sobbing. “He loved me,” I choked out through my tears, and collapsed. As I live on, the spirit broken from me, I have nought to do but wait. Wait to die, wait to live. Wait for a love that will never return. |
| This was meant to be an adaptation of Braveheart from the Princess of Wales' point of view... And of course, this is my original work and copyrighted to my name. |