The morning was quiet. No birds chirped. No sun shone. Clouds covered the sky as a perpetual

fog stretched across the horizon. The few trees that decorated the town were almost bare, indicating

the coming trials that winter’s embrace would surely bring. It was as if all of nature was weeping for the

man on the gallows…

The old man’s eyes struggled to open; his bones creaked with every movement, threatening to

give out on him. He dressed, prepared breakfast, and read his book all in utter silence. The man was not

old, but weathered. All he had endured could be thought of as more than three life-times worth. He

never bore a smile, nor let out a chuckle. It was as if he was simply waiting for the bell to toll, signifying

his time on Earth had come to a close. Every day, the man would go for a walk through town, wandering

aimlessly until he grew weary and returned home; he would eat dinner, and go to sleep. This was the life

of the old man. This was Duncan.

The day was young, and Duncan followed his routine as always; however, little did he know that

the words of a young child would forever change him. He walked through the streets, wearing neither a

scowl nor smile. His feet remembered the paths traveled, allowing his mind to simply drift among the

clouds. As Duncan came to the square where the gallows stood, the presence of a gathering crowd

shook him. People had stopped to see what was to take place that morning, but no one really cared

why. A small voice caught Duncan’s ear, bringing him closer to the point of eavesdrop.

The young child asked his father, “Why is that man standing up there?” The father, who couldn’t

have been more than twenty-five years of age, smiled at the little boy and said, “Son, this is what

happens to you when you break the law. That man must have done something that the council believes

can only be repaid with blood.” Overhearing this, Duncan’s body tensed, as if in great pain. Though no

words passed through his lips, the whole story replayed itself inside his mind:

Alistair was a fairly young man with nothing to be grateful for. Although he had been of noble

birth, his older brother had taken everything from him after the death of their parents. Alistair was

forced to work in the streets to simply get by. Despite all this, he was content with his life; after all, the

only thing that mattered to Alistair was his loving wife and his soon-to-be firstborn child. Though he had

been wronged beyond what any man deserved, he still cared for his brother and tried to reach out

countless times, receiving the same response every time: nothing.

As the bell sounded, ending the work day, Alistair took his usual path to home which led by the

post office where he would check for any messages before returning for supper. This evening, however,

took a foul turn very quickly. As he was leaving the message post, he heard a terrified shriek. Alistair

bolted across the empty square, rounding the corner only to find a young woman lying limp in the hands

of a lone thug. Anger surged through his limbs, begging him to do to this man what he deserved. A tense

moment passed between the two men. Just as soon as it had started, the confrontation was over. Just

as the bandit had stood over the young mistress not a moment before, Alistair stood over not one, but

two lifeless corpses.

City guards arrived seconds later, finding only Alistair present. He was immediately chained and

thrown into a dungeon to await his sentence. The only request he had, to let him speak to his wife, was

answered. After telling her the story of what had happened, both eyes filled with tears. Alistair’s wife

pleaded with the court, only to be answered with sneers and scorn. Feeling compelled to try one

desperate measure to aid her husband, she took up quill and ink, and wrote to Alistair’s brother, as he

had power and standing within the courts, but no response came. It was declared that Alistair would be

hung for committing two murders, with no questions asked. Alistair would be executed…

Duncan came to, realizing that both the eyes of the father and child were now trained on him. A

piece of parchment fell from Duncan’s pocket. The young child picked up the paper, and after staring at

the writing for a moment, returned it to Duncan. The child then asked, “Who is Alistair?” The words

pierced Duncan like daggers through his heart. He clutched the paper in both hands before only

responding with “Someone who deserved better…”