The fisherman

The man in front of him was still screaming after what felt like hours. It was all in vain anyway; the crime had been confessed, and the person responsible didn't argue one bit—he even seemed eager to plead guilty. "And I would do it again," was all that rang in the culprit's head. The poor guy trying to defend him was still shouting, making him retrace his steps; maybe it was all a misunderstanding.

The lawyer was trying his best to form some sort of agreement to make sure his client wasn't going to die, but it was obviously futile, as the victim was an influential man. The small cell had mold in its corners and a tiny window at the top of the left wall facing outside, letting light fill the air. A faint, salty smell drifted from the nearby water. The fisherman took a deep breath, trying to take all that mesmerizing odor in.

The cell was empty apart from the wooden chair and table placed in the center of it. The culprit lowered his gaze toward his wrists, which were in shackles, just like his ankles.

A small yawn escaped him, but the fisherman tried his best to keep it as discreet as possible, certain that his lawyer would kill him with his bare hands long before he could reach the piazzetta. When the culprit was young and went to church to learn how to read and write—a very important skill for any merchant, his dad used to say—he found some of the lectures so boring that he became a professional at stifling his yawns. His father was right, though; it was easier to figure out if someone was taking you for a fool when they wanted to sell you fish bait for way too much. He thought for a moment that he might be able to convince the sickly-looking lawyer to write down all those rules on how to be a good merchant. Maybe he would agree to it.

Unfortunately, there was no other way for the story to end. The crime was committed, and the culprit was found and sentenced. All that was left to do was wait for a short while before walking toward the big wooden stage where he would be hanged. It was the way it was meant to be.

The loud tolling of bells pierced the air, making the cell shake. It was time. The walk toward the big stage was short and uneventful, aside from most of the town following them to see who the next hanging was going to be. Some lowered their heads as the man passed, some frowned at the sight of him, and some even pointed at the spectacle. Reaching the stage, the merchant put one foot in front of the other on the creaky stairs. At the top of the stairs, other men were waiting: one to lie about his sins, and one to make sure he died. With a small nod, the doomed man turned toward the growing crowd. He knew most of the faces gathered there to see him take his final breath.

The fat man on the stage looked as if the two buttons on his round belly were about to pop at any moment. A small smile spread across the face of the man who was about to die. What a comical little man with his shirt so tight. The official held a long piece of paper, all crumpled up. They did not care about the condemned man one bit. The paper listed all his wrongdoings, many of which were a total lie, making him seem worse than he was. The list went: spreading illegal contraband (fish) to people in town, lying to customers about the provenance of the merchandise (water). The fisherman couldn't help but roll his eyes. Next up, he had allegedly created an evil agenda against a man of the people (a self-entitled connoisseur of the masses, or simply put, the mayor's son). And of course, those lines were complete lies as well, as no one really liked the brat who was raised to believe that everything could be bought with daddy's filthy money. Next on the list was the real kicker—the cherry on top, if you will.

"The man in front of you—some of you may know him as the local fisherman," said the short man on the stage. The prisoner wanted to add that he wasn't just a fisherman, but a fish merchant—big difference! "This man right here was found guilty of cold-bloodedly murdering this young gentleman, cutting up his body, dismembering it, and using it as fish bait."

The merchant's smile grew. Who knew that brat's meat was something the fish enjoyed so much? In fact, he couldn't help but feel a morbid flutter of professional pride; he had meticulously chopped and cleaned the cuts, and the trout in his usual spot had never looked healthier or bitten faster than they had this past week. Waste not, want not, as his father used to say.

"All," the fat man added, completely oblivious to the merchant's quiet amusement, "done unprompted, with no reason for such heinous violence."

And there you have it, the big lie. The truth? Not like any of those people thirsty for blood wanted to hear it, but what was said couldn't be further from reality. That brat had started looking a bit too intensely at his precious pearl. His beautiful, sun-kissed princess, who was only fifteen years of age, was the only good thing he was truly proud of. That monster followed her closely wherever she went in town, letting his dirty eyes linger on her body with a noticeable hunger. There had been other instances of the same nature, but due to a hefty amount of money, many victims decided to turn a blind eye.

One morning, as the father accompanied his daughter on a stroll, he felt a sudden uneasiness as they made their way toward the lake at the eastern edge of the town. It was the place where they often went for an early swim to start their day right. Her big smile melted his old heart as she told him all about her day and the new subjects they were learning at school. The lazy wind blew her blonde curls off her shoulders, softly caressing her skin. The basket she carried held a few peaches for them to eat after their swim.

The sun reflected in the water, its rays dancing across the surface, moving from side to side with no hurry whatsoever. What a beautiful day! He entered the water, leaving her to change her clothes in peace inside the nearby cabin. Stretching his hands over his head, he dived into the frigid water. The sudden chill made his muscles loosen up and allowed his mind to wander off to whatever he had planned for the day.

As the merchant resurfaced, he looked around, expecting his princess to already be splashing water at him, but it was dead quiet. The lake seemed completely still, devoid of any movement. A sudden panic filled the father's chest, making him rush for the shore. His feet pounded against the wet soil as he sprinted toward the cabin. A small, muffled sound reached his ears, and he violently flung the door against the wall.

He prayed that the worst-case scenario wouldn't happen, but just as he entered the cabin, the most heartbreaking scene was unfolding before his eyes. His little angel was pressed against the wall, her eyes wide with terror, with that disgusting pig right in front of her face. His left hand was gripping her mouth so she couldn't make a sound, while his right hand held a shiny dagger with a golden handle, trailing the blade across her skin. He had already cut one of her straps, exposing the flesh on her chest a hand's length below her collarbone.

As soon as the merchant entered the cabin, time seemed to stop. The brat turned his head toward the door, absolute shock freezing his pale face. That prick did not think that any of his actions might have repercussions; he wanted the pretty lady, and he might just as well take it. The idiot tried to reposition his blade toward the girl's throat, trying to keep the upper hand, but it was too late. His back hit the floor with a loud thud.

The man on top of him was way larger than him, due to the many hours of fishing and dragging cargo. The latter grabbed the dagger from the mayor's son's hand as he was trying to fight back and plunged it deep into his right eye socket. A pig-like scream escaped the rich man's mouth as pain gushed into his body. Fighting back was pointless, and he was quickly stabbed multiple times until he stopped squirming.

And he would do it all again for his angel. Everything that he had ever done, good or bad, was with the intention of protecting his own flesh and blood. Even if it meant that he might never see her again. The last few days he got to swim with her, hold her tight, and caress her hair, making sure she got to work safely. New arrangements were made soon after, as the fisherman knew that couldn't go on for much longer. He made sure to kiss her forehead one last time as she left to live with her aunt a few towns over.

That soft, lingering memory of her warm skin beneath his lips shattered in an instant. A heavy hand shoved him hard between the shoulder blades, and the deafening, bloodthirsty roar of the crowd rushed back into his ears like a violent tide. The sharp, dry splintering of the gallows' wood groaned beneath his heavy boots as the executioner urged him to take a step forward, mercilessly yanking him back into the present. The thick hemp rope felt freezing cold and coarse against the soft skin of his neck, making him want to scratch himself. Obviously, with his hands tied tightly behind his back, that wasn't going to happen. The hangman behind him—whose name he usually knew but couldn't seem to recall now—tied the rope even tighter, making it a bit harder to breathe. Nonetheless, the culprit wished to thank the executioner, because he had heard that the tighter the rope was, the more likely the neck would snap fast.

The doomed man remembered when he was young, they used to hang people often in the same square where he was currently standing, waiting to die. Vaguely, he could remember a scrawny old madman who killed his wife and his two daughters after a long night of drinking. That man—maybe by fate's cruel sense of humor—had a rope that was left too loose around his neck. After the trapdoor under his feet unlocked, he dangled from side to side, coughing and crying, making hideous faces, his eyes rolling in his head for so long. It looked like he wasn't able to die, his neck seemingly starting to elongate.

The man who was now standing on the designated trapdoor wanted it all to be over. He lived a good life, an eventful one even. He helped bring that little angel into the world, raised her after her mother died in childbirth, and watched her taking steps toward being a lovely young woman. She still had her life ahead of her, and she was going to make great accomplishments. His last moments weren't going to be sad.

He took one last deep breath, taking in all the salty smell that made him love his career, and a small tear escaped his right eye as the plank under his feet fell.