This is the first story I have written in many years. This is the darkest world I have ever created.

Thanks for reading.

We were sitting at the breakfast table, when my mother said to my father,” He is too young, he will not understand what is going on, it would be better if you wait until next year.” She had repeated this over the last week, each time he would ignore her and keep working on his uniform or writing his memoir.

This time though, after chewing and swallowing his food, he turned to look at her and stated, “It is time, he is older than I was my first time. It is not a woman's place to interfere with how I teach my sons"

As he started for another bite of food, she said with more desperation in her voice, “He is just a little boy.”

His hand slammed onto the table top with enough force to make our bowls jump into the air. With a harsh voice, he said to her, “He is old enough to understand consequences, he is old enough to know a man’s work. You will not bother me with your prattling again.” He then looked at me and firmly said, “finish your food boy, we are leaving soon.”

Instead of asking where we were going like I desperately wanted, I stared into my bowl and ate as quickly as I could.

When we left our home it was a beautiful morning. There was a chill in the air, but the sun was shining bright, and the leaves in the trees were a riot of colors. He was wearing his military uniform as he always did for important events in town. The buttons on his jacket were bright and had no smudges. His boots were polished well enough to reflect the sun. Although he walked without haste, each step seemed to carry the weight of the world.

After we were a short distance from our home, he began, “It is time you stopped acting like a child, you will be the man of my home after I die”. When we get to the tree, you will stand and be silent. You will watch his every move. You will hear this man's words, and take them with you. Despite what he did, it is our duty to give this man peace. As a man it is your duty to honor your family, you must never do anything that will cause us to lose face.”

He asked me, “Do you remember your grandfather's words?"

“Yes father, to be a man you must accept the consequences of your decisions.”

After a few more steps he said “You are old enough to repeat his words, but you do not understand them. After today, you will understand why they are important, and why we live by them. You will not cry, you will not shame me. Do you understand?”

I automatically replied “yes father." It now felt as though my jacket was full of holes. Where had the sun gone? I needed my father to comfort me, but even at that age, I knew not to reach for his hand. We continued the walk towards the end of town, the tree growing larger with every step.

As we passed the cemetery, I could see most of the town's men and sons with their backs to us staring towards the tree in absolute silence. There was no wind, the sun was lost in dark clouds and it felt colder. The men we passed nodded their heads at my father while stepping out of his way. Their faces were all solemn, but the boys had a wild look in their eyes, like trapped animals. There was a tension in the air that I had never felt in my short life. I felt so small, I wanted to leave, to be anywhere but here, instead I followed my father to the center front of the crowd and I saw it.

There, in front of me was a freshly built wooden gallows with stairs on the left and a long iron bar with a handle on the right side. Above the platform was a hangman's noose tied around a large tree branch. I felt my stomach tighten, and I understood, my father had brought me here to watch a man die.

I stood there staring at the rope, in disbelief, why had he forced me here? Why had my mother not stopped him? The wind started blowing and a cold mist began falling. I wanted to wipe it from my face, but knew he would be upset. I have no idea how long I stood there, terrified, my heart pounding, hoping he would not hear my breathing. The strain became unbearable, I needed to get away, to run as far from there as possible. Instead I stood by him waiting for it to happen, needing to look away, and hoping he would take me from there.

I heard the sound of chains and someone stumbling. My eyes tracked to a man bent over and heavily chained. He had greasy black hair, and was filthy. His face was sunken and pale, as though he had been starved. His clothes were stained gray and so full of holes, I was unsure how they stayed on his body. His feet were covered in fresh blood, and I knew he was in terrible pain. The sheriff looked full of rage and ready to commit violence. He held the man by the crook of his right arm, and clutched a cudgel in his free hand. The sheriff's son walked on the man's left side. He was my age, and looked horrified as he stared at the gallows.

The man looked up from the ground and saw the rope. He tried to turn away, but the sheriff held firmly to his arm and pulled him forward. He was shaking so violently that the chains rattled. His eyes were wide and fixed on the rope. Tears were streaming down making clean lines of skin appear on his face. His teeth were tightly clenched, but his lips were parted and moving with each breath. When his foot touched the first step, a low moan escaped. At the third step, he nearly collapsed, but the sheriff held him up, and in a disgusted voice said "be a man."

He was going to die and I had to watch. My father had brought me to this tree to hear this man's last words. My world spun, and I could only see the man's face at the end of a tunnel. My body began to shake, I felt tears falling and could not stop them. I was quiet and never moved, but somehow he knew. I heard him inhale deeply through his nose, then felt his hand tightly grip the back of neck, forcing me to face the man. I had failed my duty and shamed my father. An awful heat crept from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet. I felt an incredible pressure crushing my heart, and I could not breathe. I was trapped with the man on the gallows and I had no one.

When the man reached the center of the platform, he tried to turn away from us, begging in a ragged, high pitched voice, "please, I made a mistake, please". Over and over again he pleaded but no one answered. He tried to pull away, but instead of fighting him, the sheriff struck him in the stomach with his cudgel. He let the man fall to the floor and gag.

After he stopped gagging, the sheriff stated "If you don't want more of the same, you will get up and face them. Don't shame your father anymore than you have." The man stayed there sobbing until the sheriff raised his cudgel. He stood up and slowly faced the crowd.

Now that he was standing he stared at the boards. Minutes passed until he stood to his full height. With a haunted look in his eyes he began "I loved her with all my heart, but she loved my brother. I fought for our king across the sea to stay away, and try to forget her. When I came home and met their son, I knew she would never be mine, so I killed my brother. I pray their son will be a good man and knows his father loved him. I pray for my parents' peace and for their forgiveness. To her I know you will never love me like I still love you. I am sorry I took your husband from you." He then looked to the sheriff and said "I'm ready"

The sheriff shook out a black hood and roughly pulled it over the man's head. He then placed the noose around his neck taking the slack out. I watched the cloth get pulled into his mouth with every inhale. The sheriff's son walked to the lever, gripping the handle that was too high for him. He stared at his father, shaking, and never blinking.

It was too much, and I broke. I pulled away with all my strength, I screamed, I begged for him to not make me do this. I promised the world to my father if he would make it stop. Instead the grip on my neck became even tighter as he jerked me to his side.

He then whispered harshly into my ear "If you are going to act like a little girl, you will not be my son." My world burned with those words. I have never felt so hopeless as I did, standing there waiting for a man to die. It was at that moment the belief in my father always protecting me, died.

I stared at the hood, too ashamed to look away. Right as the sheriff nodded to his son, a beautiful, light green woman with translucent wings flew within inches of my face. She stuck her tongue out, crossed her eyes and waved for me to follow. She then flew away from the tree, and I followed her with my eyes until I heard a click, and the terrible sound of his neck breaking. I looked back to see he had fallen through the trapdoor and was swinging. The sheriff looked satisfied, but his son's head hung low and he did everything possible to hide the tears.

I attended every execution until my father died. I watched the trust and innocence die in a new generation of boys every time there was a hanging. Each time I stood there with him, waiting for that horrible moment, I prayed for the fairy to save me, no matter my pleas, and promises, she never came back.