text: "I could get you some water, if you'd like," the Hangman's voice was muffled by the thoughts echoing in his head. "Sir? Sure you wouldn't like some water?" This time the words did not fall upon deaf ears. "Uh no thank you," he replied. He studied the Hangman, his face soft and pale. His eyes were shiny blue dots in his skull, hair thick, black and curly draped upon his shoulders. He’d always pictured a more menacing man to be the one to perform the executions. "Why are you talking to me anyway?" The man asked eerily. Why would a man want to be near someone who someone whose life would be stripped away by his own hand? "Every single man I have... relieved has had something interesting to tell me before I did my job. I don't come here asking why you did, and I don't particularly care to hear you if you did, whatever it is you have been found guilty of. I want to know what it is that you remember the most. What part of your life was worth living for," there was honesty in the Hangman's eyes. His voice did not waiver, the man could tell he had done this more than a few times. "I don't know what about my life would be so interesting to you. Many probably give you sob stories huh? Try to make you feel guilty about what you're going to do come dawn. Maybe it's something you get off to in some sick way, listening to the damned grovel before you, but I doubt that. I guess there's no harm in telling you..." the man's voice trailed off as the words dripped out of his mouth. He walked close to the bars separating him from the Hangman, he grasped the icy, black iron and leaned his head between the, resting it upon the gap. "Well, go on," the Hangman urged. The man paused, then began, "A friend of mine showed me how to paint. How to get the strokes just right, to admire a subject for its beauty and how to amplify that in the art. The world around me just felt like it took a back seat to art when I worked. We traveled frequently, painting hillsides and rivers, mountain peaks and small bustling towns. Even portraits on the rare occasion. Many wanted to pay us for them but with my other line of work money wasn't really a worry for us. So we more often than not let them keep it for free," "Must feel good to make those people happy," suggested the Hangman. "No, not really. It wasn't their happiness that made me feel good. It was the approval of my friend. With every painting he acknowledged my improvements, made me feel like I was actually doing something worthwhile. It's silly really, the thoughts of someone meaning so much to you that you base your entire happiness around it. How you perceive the world, all of it really," "That's quite the adoration," "Aye, adoration is one way to describe it." The man looked down at the dirt on the floor that he had been scuffing with his feet. His shoes had gone ragged from the rough floor, he had spent nearly 3 months in this cell. "And what of it now, Hangman? You got what you want from me, going to give me a spiel on redemption now? Are you a Godly man? Is that why you wish to have me open up, to feel safe and comfortable with you?" "You think a Hangman to be a Godly man?" He chuckled, "If redemption is what you seek then by all means, ask for it. But I won't be preaching it here, or anywhere else either. I just want you to think about these things, I want you to be in a place that makes you happy. Even as death looks you in the eye, you have these memories. And rest assured, I am that which looks you in the eye," The man slumped down to the ground and rested his back against the bars. "I think I'll take that water now, if it's not too much to ask." The Hangman left to grab the water as the man traced a small scenery into the dirt with the tip of his finger. When the Hangman returned he glanced at the work. "Not too bad for being shorthanded on supplies," the Hangman smiled as he gave the man his water. He drank deeply from it and tears formed in the pits of his eyes. Steadily, the tears increased as they poured down his cheeks, dripping into his canvas of dirt. "It's hard, I know. I have seen many men in your predicament." The man finished the cup and choked back the tears. "I loved him, you know." The Hangman looked down at the man, his fingers were erasing the artwork. "Years we spent together, and it's all gone. He doesn't even know I am here. Probably thinks I ran off with another. Do me one thing tomorrow, please?" "Go ahead," "Make it quick.