He was sitting silently right on the pole of the pit deep and black. Hood on his unbowed head, noose around his bloody neck and certain inadvisable grip of circumstances, that still holds his soul to the tortured body. He was grateful to whatever his life was or will be. For God`s sake he was still alive.
He thought to himself:
- Such a curious thing to contemplate this Brave Old World as if you are out of place of wrath and tears and, after all, you are not about to pass over. The Trumpets will not sound for you on the other side just in a minute from This World to That Which Is to Come.
Three short thrusts, metal on the bone, a dead flat sound which accomplished nothing for his newly-born soul…
The judge took up the gavel with solemnity:
-The subject covers the chapters of homicide, assault, menacing threats for me and this Poor bastard, - he spitted out on the ground and put his gavel covered in blood back to the pocket.
