then took another step, and another, and at last he reached top of the platform.
---
The man in the hood directed him to kneel in front of a large block of wood with a basket sitting next to it — both were soaked with fresh blood.
The man selected a large, double-bladed axe from a rack full of such weapons. Its razor edges glinted in the sun. Aaron noticed that there was no blood on the blade. Clearly the man took pride in his work.
The axeman had Aaron rest his forehead on the block — it felt warm and sticky against his skin. He could not believe that after all he’d been through he was about to die at the hands of a medieval executioner.
“Do you have any last words?” the axeman said, his tone jaded, not at all sympathetic.
The crowd stared at Aaron expectantly, some of them no doubt pondering what they would say in answer to that most provocative of questions.
“No,” Aaron replied. “I have nothing to say.”
A round of enthusiastic booing could be heard from the crowd. Aaron knew he had disappointed them. But he really didn’t have anything to say. What could he say? He had no idea why he was being executed, and he could think of nothing to give penance for.
The axeman stepped over next to the block and adjusted the position of Aaron’s head so that he faced slightly to one side. To his dismay, Aaron could now see the people who had arrived early and secured the front row. Some of them had brought their children, the youngest of whom wouldn’t look squarely at him; but some of the older ones were obviously getting a kick out of Aaron’s dire predicament, and they had no problem making eye contact as they jeered at him with rotting teeth.
At least the guy could have given me a hood , Aaron thought bitterly.
He wanted to turn away, but he remained still, lest he not give the axeman a clean shot at his neck.
The crowd cheered wildly, feathered hats flying through the air.
Why are they in such a frenzy? Aaron thought. What are they hoping to gain from this experience? What do they expect their kids to gain from it? Where is their compassion? Their humanity?
The axeman rested his hand briefly on Aaron’s shoulder, as if to say ‘It’s time.’ Then a hush came over the crowd as he raised his shiny axe high overhead.
Then WHACK!
---
Aaron didn’t feel a thing — his executioner was obviously an expert.
He had read somewhere that human heads lived for a few seconds after being severed, and now, flipping face first into the woven basket, and he knew that they did.
He felt strangely safe and secure in his basket. At least I don’t have to look at them , he thought. I’ll just wait here till Death takes me away forever.
But then, to his infinite horror, the executioner leaned down and grabbed him by the hair and lifted him out of the basket, holding him aloft, to the morbid delight of the hysterical mob. They screamed and danced in perverse ecstasy. Several women swooned and fell, only to be trampled underfoot as the crowd surged forward in a communal frenzy that had reached a fever pitch.
Aaron tried to scream, but of course he had no lungs with which to do so. He could only close his eyes and pray for a swift, sweet death.
But sadly, Death wouldn’t come.
---
SMACK!
Aaron jerked awake and sat up holding his cheek, and for a second he was disoriented. But then he saw Brandy Fine standing in front of him and he knew he was back on the Cayman Jewel .
“ What did you do that for? ” he said, wishing she had brought him out of his wild dream with a bit more finesse. But then it dawned on him why she might be angry with him.
“Oh — shut up,” Brandy said, disgusted. “You were flying all over the bed acting like a fucking lunatic. ‘They all stare!’ you said. ‘Make them stop!’ you said. What was I supposed to do? Bring you warm milk and a cookie? You’re a grown man, Aaron. If you can’t take a fucking nap after getting high without freaking out, then forget the damn
---
The man in the hood directed him to kneel in front of a large block of wood with a basket sitting next to it — both were soaked with fresh blood.
The man selected a large, double-bladed axe from a rack full of such weapons. Its razor edges glinted in the sun. Aaron noticed that there was no blood on the blade. Clearly the man took pride in his work.
The axeman had Aaron rest his forehead on the block — it felt warm and sticky against his skin. He could not believe that after all he’d been through he was about to die at the hands of a medieval executioner.
“Do you have any last words?” the axeman said, his tone jaded, not at all sympathetic.
The crowd stared at Aaron expectantly, some of them no doubt pondering what they would say in answer to that most provocative of questions.
“No,” Aaron replied. “I have nothing to say.”
A round of enthusiastic booing could be heard from the crowd. Aaron knew he had disappointed them. But he really didn’t have anything to say. What could he say? He had no idea why he was being executed, and he could think of nothing to give penance for.
The axeman stepped over next to the block and adjusted the position of Aaron’s head so that he faced slightly to one side. To his dismay, Aaron could now see the people who had arrived early and secured the front row. Some of them had brought their children, the youngest of whom wouldn’t look squarely at him; but some of the older ones were obviously getting a kick out of Aaron’s dire predicament, and they had no problem making eye contact as they jeered at him with rotting teeth.
At least the guy could have given me a hood , Aaron thought bitterly.
He wanted to turn away, but he remained still, lest he not give the axeman a clean shot at his neck.
The crowd cheered wildly, feathered hats flying through the air.
Why are they in such a frenzy? Aaron thought. What are they hoping to gain from this experience? What do they expect their kids to gain from it? Where is their compassion? Their humanity?
The axeman rested his hand briefly on Aaron’s shoulder, as if to say ‘It’s time.’ Then a hush came over the crowd as he raised his shiny axe high overhead.
Then WHACK!
---
Aaron didn’t feel a thing — his executioner was obviously an expert.
He had read somewhere that human heads lived for a few seconds after being severed, and now, flipping face first into the woven basket, and he knew that they did.
He felt strangely safe and secure in his basket. At least I don’t have to look at them , he thought. I’ll just wait here till Death takes me away forever.
But then, to his infinite horror, the executioner leaned down and grabbed him by the hair and lifted him out of the basket, holding him aloft, to the morbid delight of the hysterical mob. They screamed and danced in perverse ecstasy. Several women swooned and fell, only to be trampled underfoot as the crowd surged forward in a communal frenzy that had reached a fever pitch.
Aaron tried to scream, but of course he had no lungs with which to do so. He could only close his eyes and pray for a swift, sweet death.
But sadly, Death wouldn’t come.
---
SMACK!
Aaron jerked awake and sat up holding his cheek, and for a second he was disoriented. But then he saw Brandy Fine standing in front of him and he knew he was back on the Cayman Jewel .
“ What did you do that for? ” he said, wishing she had brought him out of his wild dream with a bit more finesse. But then it dawned on him why she might be angry with him.
“Oh — shut up,” Brandy said, disgusted. “You were flying all over the bed acting like a fucking lunatic. ‘They all stare!’ you said. ‘Make them stop!’ you said. What was I supposed to do? Bring you warm milk and a cookie? You’re a grown man, Aaron. If you can’t take a fucking nap after getting high without freaking out, then forget the damn
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