"I am going to die today," she had accepted her fate now. "The noose will tie around my neck, I will hang from the galley, and I will go. . .flying. . .high, high, high."
She looked at the thing that was going to be the end of her. It hung in front of her eyes, like a brown halo, like the scythe of a grim reaper. Thin strands of dry hay stood from that thick rope, with black clots of blood and sweat over it. "How many people would've died over it?" she wondered.
"Hang them!" people cheered and clamored from down below.
"Hypocrites," Callaway thought spitefully.
She knew – that these people didn't want to see justice given. They were just like the people back at the coliseum. They just want to see other people suffer. They want to hear her bones crack under that rope, saliva gurgle up her throat, her eyes roll up and her skin turns blue.
One turn more, or less in a coin toss – and all humans can turn evil.
