Burnes Brothers Imagination Works
The Hanging of Jackson Dylan Burnes
Fordham, North Carolina - 1865
Today was the day. Two marshals came to my cell at 8:55. One unlocked the door to my cell. As he opened it, the other walked in with his revolver at his hip. He carefully scrutinized me. His manner was that of a raccoon. He opened up his bag that hung at his waist. He looked back at me. I could still see the other marshal with his gun pointed at me, making sure I didn't try pulling any last minute escape attempts. The raccoon marshal pulled out the handcuffs.
"Turn around."
I did as I'd been told. The marshal approached me. His partner at the door looked at his pocket watch.
"Hurry up Jim. The hanging starts in two minutes."
I heard the cuffs click. The cold metal on my wrists sent a chill throughout my body. "Jim" Pointed his gun at me.
"Walk. Don't try to pull anything or you'll get some lead in your gut."
I nodded.
"I want to hear you promise."
I said nothing. He jabbed his gun at my hip.
"Promise."
"I promise."
"Good. Now go."
I walked out of the cell. The two marshals flanked me, both with guns at my side. I walked forward. They directed me out of the Sheriff's office. As we stepped out I felt the cold and the rain. Of course it was raining on the day I would die. It was just my luck. They walked me up the stairs to the noose. A crowd had gathered despite the weather. I was probably known throughout the county. A deserter and traitor to the country. I walked towards the noose. The crowd started to stir. "Jim" pulled a sack over my head and pulled the noose around my neck. I heard "Jim" give a muffled speech about my being a heinous criminal and deserter. How I had betrayed the State of the Union. And how I would pay for my horrible crimes. The crowd cheered. Then gunshots. I heard screaming. I pulled away the noose. Since I hadn't been shot, I knew something was wrong. I tore the sack off of my head. On the floor bleeding next to me was "Jim".
"Please... "
He pulled out a letter.
"Please..."
"Yes."
I took the letter. The life drained out of him. I closed his eyes.
"Rest in peace."
A bullet missed me by two feet, reminding me that I had to get out of here. I took Jim's rifle and revolver. I ran for the saloon.
The Hanging of Jackson Dylan Burnes
Fordham, North Carolina - 1865
Today was the day. Two marshals came to my cell at 8:55. One unlocked the door to my cell. As he opened it, the other walked in with his revolver at his hip. He carefully scrutinized me. His manner was that of a raccoon. He opened up his bag that hung at his waist. He looked back at me. I could still see the other marshal with his gun pointed at me, making sure I didn't try pulling any last minute escape attempts. The raccoon marshal pulled out the handcuffs.
"Turn around."
I did as I'd been told. The marshal approached me. His partner at the door looked at his pocket watch.
"Hurry up Jim. The hanging starts in two minutes."
I heard the cuffs click. The cold metal on my wrists sent a chill throughout my body. "Jim" Pointed his gun at me.
"Walk. Don't try to pull anything or you'll get some lead in your gut."
I nodded.
"I want to hear you promise."
I said nothing. He jabbed his gun at my hip.
"Promise."
"I promise."
"Good. Now go."
I walked out of the cell. The two marshals flanked me, both with guns at my side. I walked forward. They directed me out of the Sheriff's office. As we stepped out I felt the cold and the rain. Of course it was raining on the day I would die. It was just my luck. They walked me up the stairs to the noose. A crowd had gathered despite the weather. I was probably known throughout the county. A deserter and traitor to the country. I walked towards the noose. The crowd started to stir. "Jim" pulled a sack over my head and pulled the noose around my neck. I heard "Jim" give a muffled speech about my being a heinous criminal and deserter. How I had betrayed the State of the Union. And how I would pay for my horrible crimes. The crowd cheered. Then gunshots. I heard screaming. I pulled away the noose. Since I hadn't been shot, I knew something was wrong. I tore the sack off of my head. On the floor bleeding next to me was "Jim".
"Please... "
He pulled out a letter.
"Please..."
"Yes."
I took the letter. The life drained out of him. I closed his eyes.
"Rest in peace."
A bullet missed me by two feet, reminding me that I had to get out of here. I took Jim's rifle and revolver. I ran for the saloon.