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The Strung-Up Man

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Author's note: Well, there's my first CP. Nothing special, but I got the idea whilst getting a drink the other day before finding myself absently staring at the kitchen knives (They're right next to the juice :P)

Suicide hanging


Barely a trio of centuries ago the Midlands of England were unchecked and divided, the governmental decisions in London barely reaching its villagers. In one of these forgotten villages, a young butcher's son murdered his father with his very own cleaver, supposedly out of self-defence. But so what of that? In this world of law, if you kill you shall be killed. Who was it that coined the simple phrase, "Tough"?

He was but a boy: mortal, scared, and weak. In barely an hour, the hostile locals ran him down and captured his terrified form. They dragged him to the village centre by his bruised, aching ankles, where a thief of the market flew back and forth, tied by his neck and noose to the local oak. As the boy kicked and screamed, he stared deeply into the eyes of the rotting thief, his foul eyelids still open in mockery of death. A noose was thrown onto his neck, the crowd cheering at the sight of yet another being meeting his demise in this sleepy midland village. And as the boy was pulled up by the farmers and workers, flopping and gurgling in desperation, five painful words were formed:

"He... Made... Me... Do it!" Crack. The villagers let go of the noose pulley and caught it again at the last second, halting the boy's descent and snapping his slender neck loudly.

Those last words became a legend within the village, many children pondering the purpose over fires and tables. Some claimed it was just hysterics, others believed more.

A legend had shrouded the village years beforehand, with the claim that whenever a man was hung at their great oak, he would be given the honour of choosing who will be next to join him. At his leisure and apparent joy, the strings that sustain him will slither through the night. The strings will find you at the kitchen sink, maybe getting a drink or a cheeky midnight snack. The strings will grasp onto your body, and harness your arms and legs as if you were its ragdoll. The strings will make you go for your kitchen knives, your rolling pin, whatever it can muster. Then the strings will have one night they'll never forget.

"But I don't deserve this condemnation!" They hear you cry.


Written by Shadowfang3000
Content is available under CC BY-SA

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