A heavy yoke settled over the top of my spine.
No. This can’t be it. This can’t be!
“Goodbye, Nila.”
The breeze of Cut moving to the side sent goosebumps over my nape. My breath clouded the hood. My eyelashes jewelled with unshed tears.
I hunched, tensing against the painful conclusion.
I couldn’t get free.
I couldn’t save myself.
I hadn’t won.
Cut’s boots crunched on the platform, the gentle clink of rope and pulley signalling he’d reached for the release of the blade.
I waited for his last history lesson.
Surely, I should have a history lesson.
All the debts did. He couldn’t have forgotten the theatrics of the debt. His story would extend my life just a little longer.
But no words fell.
Only my breathing...
My heart beating...
My tears falling...
My body living its final seconds...
I’m dead.
I curled inside, waiting to perish.
A loud bang rang in my ears.
For a moment, I thought I’d died.
In my mind, I saw the jerk of the rope. I felt the slice of sharpness. I suffered the untethering severance.
I waited for some mystical deliverance where my soul flew free, growing wings to hover over my decapitated body.
I hung in limbo waiting for pain or freedom.
But neither came.
What was death?
How would it feel?
What should I expect?
Would the blade slice through and turn me from alive to dead? Would I know once it had happened? Would I witness the end and feel the agony as my soul snipped free?
Or would it be over so fast I wouldn’t even know he’d stripped my life away?
