The Hangman Hanged

The nose tightened around the man's neck. Fine Italian silk still crusted in blood. An empty holster hiding under his jacket. One of his eyes was missing. Eaten by the Ravens.

"Please master! Please! I can still serve you. Just give me another chance. Just one more chance. I won't screw up again. I promise."

The hangman checked the knots. A quick tug here and there. Satisfied that the knots will hold he moved on to double check the trapdoor mechanism . He took pride in his job. Not in what he did, but how he did it. A real hangman is efficient. A real hangman is detached. He cannot take pleasure in taking life. It is not appropriate. A hangman is not a killer. He carries this great burden for the sake of order. He takes life so other can live.

"Please master, please.... dear God, please..." the man whimpered.

A hangman does not talk to the condemned.

"I know I fucked up. It was too early. I should not have told them about you."

A hangman does not judge.

He took the black, eyeless hood and pulled it over the man's head. A moment of silence as the hand rests on the lever. Give the condemned one last chance to reflect on his sins.

Thud.

The hangman looked up at the hanging body. No struggling. A broken neck. Perfect.

A hangman is efficient. He does not judge but trusts in the law. A real hangman would hang his own brother if he had to.