The Reaper’s Rope
The rope snapped taut. His feet danced as the noose tightened around his throat. As he struggled to breathe, he wished the Hangman had placed the knot a few inches to the left. His neck would have broken instantly, and his suffering would be over. If only he’d had the money to bribe the fucker, but the sadistic bastard would probably still have given him a slow death even if he had given him the cash he demanded of all the condemned. He wasn’t known for his mercy.
The dying man’s vision began to fade, but he could still hear the priest drone on and on about salvation and the fires of hell. Listening to the hypocrite was probably the worst punishment they could have inflicted on him and the other convicts awaiting their turn. His lungs burned in their desperation for air
