“The time would be easy to know, for then mankind would have become as the Great Old Ones; free and wild and beyond good and evil, with laws and morals thrown aside and all men shouting and killing and revelling in joy.”
H. P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu
The outlaw approached the judge’s bench, and if an observer had wandered into the courtroom at that moment, he might have been forgiven for thinking, notwithstanding the chained wrists and shabby prison uniform, that Martin Colson was not a condemned prisoner but an oddly theatrical attorney who donned his client’s garb to argue some point of law before the judge and jury. The attendees, however, were not fooled, and they shrank back as the gray eyes wandered over each face in the courtroom. Only one man mirrored the outlaw’s relaxed demeanor, for Abraham Woolsey acknowledged the wrongdoer’s stare with a polite nod as his right hand slipped to the revolver at his hip. The judge hushed the murmur that passed through the courtroom with a sharp rap of his gavel, and when all were silent, the outlaw began to speak.
“Your honor, members of the jury, distinguished guests of this courtroom… I see that you have chosen to convict me of various and sundry crimes, and I fully expect that I will be sentenced to hang when the judge sees fit to pass sentence. I am untroubled by the prospect of my own death, for man’s life is a vapor that dissipates with the gentlest breeze, but before my passing, there are a few things that I would like to pass along – a few nuggets of wisdom, if you will allow me.”
The assembled crowd whispered among themselves, for the outlaw had remained silent throughout his trial, and the onlookers were surprised that the convicted man spoke with such erudition. The incongruity of that voice with the crimes proven to the jury and with the prisoner’s wild appearance – he was a well-muscled giant of nearly six and a half feet tall – rendered Martin Colson into a specimen rarely encountered in the annals of justice.
“Let me begin with a few acknowledgements. First of all, Marshal Woolsey preserved several writings to which I ascribe great importance, and those texts have allowed me to pass the hours of imprisonment with a degree of comfort that I had not expected. Second, my sincere thanks to the woman who delivered food to my cell and allowed me a few minutes of intelligent conversation. I deduced from the faint traces of accent that she is a New Englander like myself, and, though she refused to acknowledge as much, that she is Marshal Woolsey’s wife – no need for the sour face, Marshal, I would not acknowledge you either if I were in her position. Dear Annabelle has little formal schooling, but she possesses a quick mind and a stout heart, and I daresay she is more than a match for any gentleman in this assembled crowd.” A chuckle ran through the courtroom, and even Abraham Woolsey graced the outlaw with a brief smile, though he gripped the revolver at his waist with white knuckles.
“But, of course, we should return to the business at hand. As you are doubtless aware, it is customary for a condemned man to be given the opportunity to throw himself upon the mercy of the court. Weaker men repent of their wrongdoings, supposing in vain to avoid the noose, and fearful men cover their terror with bravado, raining down fire and brimstone upon the law-abiding citizens who dare visit such an outrage upon their person. I will not waste your time with pleas for mercy, nor will I make idle threats when, as you can observe, I am bound hand and foot with these chains.”
“Instead, what I have is a story.”
“My family was among the better-off in Boston, for my great-grandfather founded the Colson Shipping Corporation around the time of the Revolution. The earliest of my ancestors were of Quaker stock, and as such, we did not deal in the trading of slaves or armaments. This changed briefly with the onset of the Civil War, but with the ending of that conflict, our armories were shuttered, and our ships ceased to carry weapons – the family’s fortune would not be increased by ignoble means if the United States chose to embark upon another foreign adventure such as the conquest that added Texas and California to our domains. I say this by way of introduction, to explain that the men and women of my family were good people – among the most noble to grace the soil of our United States.”
“What became of me was purely my own decision.”
“When I was a boy of ten, I had the most remarkable dream. I wandered the street of some unknown town, one of those picturesque New England villages that grace the northern fringe of our Atlantic Coast. As I walked, the voice of a town crier echoed all about me.”
“Good or evil – choose this very day!”
“I was intrigued by the crier’s message, for those around me carried on with their business as if none but myself heard the truth, and yet I knew – knew, as I know the back of my own hand – that all heard the same voice as I, and that all were weighing the choice within their own hearts. In the stupor of that childhood dream, I learned something of vital importance, for those who chose evil became like unto the gods themselves, with radiant faces of such beauty that I was moved to tears. And the good? Their skin sagged and took upon a most unhealthy countenance, their limbs became flaccid and slow, and a touch of miasma emanated from their pores and lingered about their clothes.”
“I awoke in a frenzy of panic, thrashing at the bedsheets as a distant clock chimed out twelve bells. The washroom in our home contained a large mirror, and I crept downstairs, praying that none would hear the tread of my footsteps or see the glow of the lantern in my hand. I closed the door of the washroom and beheld my face in the mirror for a long time, studying my own features in the lantern’s glow, and when I finally returned to my bedroom, my face was stained with tears, for the face that I beheld was the same face that greeted me with every glance into the mirror – that of an ordinary boy.”
“Not, as I had hoped, the face of a god.”
Author’s Note: The preceding story was based upon a fragment that has been bouncing around in my head and a writing prompt (well-reasoned villainy) from my friend Scoot. Check out more of Scoot’s work at the link below.
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