The Lives of Hattie Fitzsimmons

So there I stood on the gallows for all the world to see, like the common criminal I had become. The hushed crowd waited to watch me hang, but I knew once the trapdoor sprang open and I felt only air beneath my feet, a roar of delight would burst from the onlookers. Guns would be fired. Women would shriek. Men would cheer. I was trembling as much with anticipation as fear. I did not cry. Not because of any strict Code of the West, but because I was numb with shock. The drums which had driven me onward from one disaster to the next beat louder than ever in my brain. Pure terror was a sound as familiar as a lover’s sigh. Like most women, I’d begun my slippery slide into the person I had become with a giant push from a man. Then, with the instincts and morals of vultures circling a nearly dead cow, other men had aided me in my despicable life. No longer able to expect a miracle, I began to pray. My sins were far too long to list in the moments I had left. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. And, I knew exactly what I was doing.”