All to You

Every word on every page,
everything I'd ever say,
everything I'd freely give,
if with you my love could live.

Every breath and every word,
every time and every turn,
everything I'd freely give,
if with you my love could live.

Every month and every year,
every time and every cheer,
everything I'd freely give,
if with you my love would live.

Everything to you I'd give,
if with you my love could live.
Everything I'd give to you,
if you'd say you love me too.

Forever and for always,
Frankie Boehm

The Merciful Gallows (Response to Crucible assignment)

The light blares, as they lead me to the platform. My feet drag behind me: lead in my shoes, and I see the rope. I see every twist and braid, every thread. I see the knot. I see the gallows. The executioner stands silently, watching me approach, his hands propped casually on the lever that will soon cause my death. The crowd jeers as I step upon the stage. Some throw rocks. Others throw words. I’m not sure which hurt worse. I see them all, everyone I’ve ever known: everyone I grew up with. They hate me. The guard’s hand pushes sternly into my back, forcing me, step-by-step, into the noose. I feel it tighten around my neck, making it difficult to breathe. That, however, will cease to be a problem very soon. The executioner begins to slip a satin bag over my head. I move to stop him, but my shackles restrain my hands.

“No,” I hear myself say, my voice raspy from days in my dusty prison cell. “I want them to look into my eyes as I die. I want them to know what they’ve done.”

The executioner says nothing. He simply shrugs and steps away, stuffing the bag into his pocket. When he reaches the lever, he reads the charges against me and pulls.

The trap door under me snaps open, dropping me downward at a speed meant to break the span of the victim. I’m not so lucky. My body jerks as the rope ends. My eyes burn. I don’t move. I don’t kick. I don’t scream. I don’t give them that pleasure. Instead, I meet their eyes in turn, burning my dying moment into their memories forever. I lose my peripheral vision as clouds begin to creep into my vision, moving rapidly across my field of view. I feel impossibly heavy, hanging from an unusually light head. My palms itch, but I can’t scratch them. My wrists ache, but I can’t rub them. My heart breaks, but I can’t save it. It’s funny how my last desires are so trivial, so…unimportant. Laughter roars from my chest, rocking me to and fro as I expend the last of my oxygen. The audience looks uncomfortable. Some even avert their eyes to my display. My air runs out, but I still laugh. No sound is made, but my body still laughs. I remain this way for the next three minutes until finally, mercifully, I die.