The Wolf in Cell Six: Rogue Revolution

I close my eyes. Let the sun fade my field of vision to a warm, red glow. Feel the heat on my skin. It's a perfect day. Not too warm, not too cold. The birds are singing a song of spring. A gentle breeze wafts campfire smoke, pollen kisses, and promises of tomorrow my way while the swaying of the trees lulls me into a sense of calm. If I focus on it, it almost drowns out the crowd's cheers and taunts, excited for my hanging. It's a perfect day to die.

"Amalea Ann Whitehouse, you stand here before the eyes of your alpha and pack condemned to hang on the charges of treason, murder, and arson. Would you like to speak your peace?" The jailer drones on. There are a lot of things I'd like to say to these bastards, but they don't deserve it. They're not worth it.

"I am at peace." That's all they get. I open my eyes. Look at the town I once called home. The pack I once called family. The man I thought I might have loved.

How did I get here? Standing on the edge of a platform in rags, covered in dirt, shit, and shame. Why did they do this to me? Turn my loyalty into loathing, take everything from me, and stand me up to entertain the people with one grand, final act—or swing.

I feel the prick against my neck as they inject the wolfsbane to prevent me from healing and fight the urge to cry out. I'll die quickly, at least. Is that a mercy? Was it his idea?

 I keep my head high, mustering a faint smirk. Look at all these people here just for me. The wolf in cell six. I think they could have come up with a better name for me, or better yet, just used my actual name, but at least they'll remember me or what they've heard of me. I hope. Someone should. Everyone should be remembered. What isn't remembered never existed or might as well not have. Will he remember me?

"The bag," he orders our—their—Alpha. He sheds a guilty glance my way before turning his gaze back over the crowd, to the horizon, the pack house walls, to anything but me. Oh, how I once loved his eyes.

My executioner moves for it, the bag. Time for the show to begin. I'll give them a show, but I want them to see my face. Let them see what they've made of me, what they've done to me. I'll die on my own terms. I jump, suddenly, slightly, such a small movement, and the world goes dark.