>one brisk autumn day
>when I was young, too young to even hold a shotgun right
>my grandfather took me dove hunting
>I don't remember much
>except that I missed every dove there was to miss
>much to my grandfather's dismay
>because God bless his soul, that stubborn old man hiked all the way back home just to fetch me another box of shells
>only to drop when he returned to the most peculiar sight
>of me surrounded by a congregation of doves
>all lined up and patiently waiting their turn so I could feed them bits of my sandwich like they were pigeons in the park
>because according to me, I felt bad for scaring them
>too innocent to understand...
>so needless to say
>we didn't bring any doves home that day
>nor any day after
>because my grandpa never took me hunting again
>and it was only many years later
>in those precious minutes before I was due to go over the top for the first time
>did I begin to understand why
>because out in the mud and rain
>steadfast against the shells and screams
>was a dove
>just quietly roosting upon the wire
>with eyes so patient, it was like it already knew I had a bit of bread for it
>and it's hard to describe just how far a peck of sourdough can go for the old and tired
>but nowadays I can't help but wonder
>if maybe that blessing was the only reason I came back at all
>because when the guns finally fell silent
>and I found that letter waiting for me upon my bed
>I already knew what it said
>the pigeon had "told me"
>my grandpa had passed.

>I sigh and open my eyes
>you remember the damndest things waking up under a warm blue sky
>when the world is silent save for the gentle rustle of wheat in your ear
>no shells... no smoke... no shrapnel here...
>just a golden field of wheat, wistfully waving till the end time
>outstretching both history and horizon alike
>and as I aimlessly wander, letting the gentle sun warm my uniform and dry my skin
>I realize that this truly is a strange place indeed
>for the wheat is too tall to be planted by any man
>yet too cared for to be that of nature's doing
>somehow beyond both
>but not hostile in the slightest
>in fact the way the wheat grabs at your hands as you walk is almost friendly
>for they mean to lead you to where you have to go to before you even began to know where it is
>something I don't fully realize
>until I notice the towering oak tree in the distance growing in a clearing reaped into the wheat

>where a long monolith hangs from the highest branch, strung up with a rope made of barbed wire to keep her inhuman heights high off the ground best it can
>but it's frankensteined flesh weighs heavy on the wire
>enough for whoever put her up there to forcibly wrap it all the way down to the trunk of the tree
>were they anxious it would somehow break free?
>I approach with a careful step
>because it certainly looks more than strong enough to do so…
>but thankfully the body's dead eyes continue to sadly stare at the ground, too tired to hurt anyone, much less the pigeons sleepily roosting on the foriegn feldgrau of her uniform
>but not enough to stay around when I grow too close for their liking
>strange fruit round these parts…
>the kind with metal in its neck
>and eyes like crosses laid on a backing of faded orange light, much like the stained glass of my childhood church
>why the body's single long braid would be almost indistinguishable from the wheat around us at a great distance, giving the impression it belongs among the dreamy doldrums of the land around us
>though that may just be because it's a nightmare you can contrast it against
>akin to the darkness lingering within the mouth of a case of brass
>darkness that can't speak, but can still imply
>more devoid of soul, than of spark or slug
>I anxiously pull the sling of the BAR over my shoulder a little closer
>and while I'm no "monster" myself, a sight like this probably means I best be wary of the loca--

>"Howdy." 
>I jump and freeze dead in my tracks
>did it jus--
>"Quite the long walk, ain't it?" The hangman greets
>the helmet falls from my hands
>"P-Pardon?" I breathlessly gasp
>causing the hangman to knowingly smile before finally raising its eyes up to mine
>"It's just that a lot of people, they tend to get lost out there," it slowly starts to explain with a hypnotizing drawl. "So I guess it's a pretty darn good thing you didn't. Hell, I'd even say that it's downright lucky…"
>a sly little grin starts to creep across the hangman's face as she finally raises her eyes up to mine
>"I mean, how else do you think crop circles are made?" She jests 
>and it's the playful way that she tells it like a grandparent teaching a young one about some ridiculous playground secret from their own time that makes me smile
>so I can't help but awkwardly chuckle alongside with her, grateful for the sudden bit of levity between us
>because for a body, she's sure in surprisingly good spirits about it
>but sadly it's not too long before they start to run dry
>as there's just not a lot to laugh about when you're hanging from the elephant in the room…
>and especially not when the wind decides to oh so rudely shake the tree you hang from
>"Oh, and there I go again." The body sighs as she starts to spin in the wind; woefully unable to stop herself
>an all too familiar experience that she's grown visibly weary of
>so I do my best to keep pace with her, keeping the poor girl some company by staying comfortably within view
>but all things considered, the shock of a dead man speaking still weighs heavy on my mind, as it's not everyday you come across an undead caught by the neck
>I rack my brain for the right thing to ask, only to blurt out a frankly pointless "so what are you doing out here?" 
>but the body just chuckles, not at all offended by my question
>in fact, her eyes have even begun to flicker like a freshly lit pair of candles
>"Oh, you know… just hanging out."
>"By the neck?"
>"It happens to the best of us." The body shrugs 
>but the motion just puts more undue stress on the already precarious way she hangs
>"Alright… let's just cut to the chase already." She groans
>the body sighs and shamefully pulls at the rusty noose around her neck, unnoticing of how the barbs pierce her flesh like tacks in bulletin board
>"Do you think you could cut me down? Because it'd be mighty appreciated if you did." She quietly pleads 
>"S-Sure…" I start, raising the girl's hopes. "But can I ask why you were... umm... strung up to begin with?"
>the body's cheer quickly turns sour on her tongue, but she still tries her best to keep a smile on her face regardless
>even if it's painful to do so.
>"D-Does it matter?" she nervously deflects. "I mean if you were hung out to dry for even half as long as I have, you'd learn to stop caring about that kind of stuff." 
>I nervously stir in place, choosing my next words very carefully
>"Where I'm from, they usually only end up hanging convicts and such by the neck…" I quietly retort
>"Yeah, b-but like you said, only 'usually,' not 'always' though!" The body tries to cover
>but the stress of her predicament has finally come to a boil
>especially as she starts to anxiously kick against her rope, floundering like a fish hooked through the eye
>forcing me to take a good, long step back
>mostly because she's shaking the tree all the way down to its roots
>more of a shark caught in a fisherman's net then?
>"Because, I can assure you, that I am the furthest thing from the kind of person that this kind of a thing usually happens to." The body rambles. "F-Far from it! In fact, you could even say that I have aims to slit the throat of the devil himself, or as close you'll get to him 'round these parts, if I'm to collect."
>"Collect?"
>the body sighs and bites her tongue
>"Yes… collect…" she stews. "And before you ask… no, I'm not 'from the bank,' and nor do I work for the 'man from the bank' either!"
>she turns and spits from the name putting a bad taste in her mouth
>"So you're what, like a tax collector?"
>the body falls limp, defeatedly hanging in the wind once more
>either too dead or too sorry to care anymore
>"You could say that…" the body mumbles, "though personally I'd say that I'm more of a census taker, or maybe even a sheriff if you will."
>I stand in silence, unsure what to do
>she's evidently not a very good one if she got strung up
>but indecision is the worst kind of answer I could have given
>because the body's eyes fall back to the dusty ground, having given up trying to convince me
>as though I could have let her down any harder…
>"I'll take that as a 'no' then." She sighs

>the body dangles for a few awkward moments before trying to speak once more
>"But before you go, can you at least tell me what you're doing all the way out here?" The body asks
>perhaps wanting just one last thought to ponder for the rest of her dangling eternity 
>"I'm… not quite sure actually…" I timidly say. "Just looking for a way home I guess?"
>"Then I assume you're looking to cross the river?" The body asks with a distracted nod
>"The river?"
>"That's right, the river." She says. "So you're going to want to get to the boardwalk before the last steamer leaves, since the next one doesn't come for the next…"
>the body suddenly trails off, as though the very concept of time has caught her off guard
>"Let's just say there won't be more for a good long while." She deflects with a strangely misplaced guilt
>"Like till next week?"
>the body ominously spins in the wind, apparently not the one to enjoy lying through her teeth, preferring much more to mince her words instead
>or not to speak at all if there's still too much bone to chew
>"Till next month?"
>"..."
>"Till next year?!"
>"You should probably get going." The body interrupts as she aimlessly points towards the horizon of wheat behind me. "It's just a yonder that way, and like I said, best to be wary of the 'man from the bank.'"
>I hesitantly mill in place, the BAR suddenly hanging even heavier on my shoulder than before
>"Hey now, don't fret." She tries to calm. "The boatman's my friend, and he's always more than happy to bring first timers over the river, no matter which way. He's a bit of a snob about his obols, but also just as much of a sucker for a good story."
>I sigh and sheepishly pick my helmet off the ground
>deadmen shouldn't walk
>but then again, how long has she been hanging for?
>probably more than just "a good long while" judging from what I've seen
>"And if I cut you down… what happens then?" I quietly ask as I dust my helmet clean
>the body freezes, immediately understanding my language of averted eyes
>"Uhh… well… I mean…" the body starts, trying to hide the smile growing on her face. "I'd have to make some collections on the way, but I could take you there for sure, no problem at all." 
>"That settles it then." I confirm with a firm nod. "I'll cut you down." 
>the body shuts her eyes and breathes an intense sigh of relief
>"Thank you…"
>"I guess the only question now, is how."
>the body's joy comes to a grinding halt as she turns deathly pale, or at least as much more pale as she can go
>"W-What do you mean?"
>"You're pretty high up." I say, pointing up to the branch she hangs from. "Higher than I can reach even by climbing."
>"Am I?" The body asks confusedly, evidently having forgotten her sums, times, and heights from having spent so many days with her head in the clouds


>Hell, it'd still be quite a ways up there even with her feet planted on the ground
>"And I can't exactly cut through barbed wire with a knife, not unless you're fine with me sawing for hours on end."
>the body dangles heavy with the sudden unbearable reality of hanging for an "hour"
>so to be waiting for hours?
>"I could try shooting you down." I suggest
>the branch above us groans as the body jumps in her skin
>"What, like a cowboy? No way! Clearly you've never taken a bullet!" She quails. "Because a noose is a good deal smaller than a goose, and lord knows you already have a spotty record hitting birds, even with a shotgun."
>"Pardon?"
>the body bites damn near through its tongue and kicks herself for revealing her hand
>"N-Nothing… d-don't worry about it…" she stutters. "But maybe you could visit the De Pere place then? I think they have a pair of wire cutters they can lend you."
>"That'd work."
>"Just tell them that Cher Ami sent you." The body explains. "I dunno if old man De Pere will still be there given the uhh… 'time of day…' but his boy Daniel should at the very least know my name too."
>Cher Ami grabs her barbed rope with one hand and points with the other towards the south like a ship's lookout
>"Just head in that direction, then east along the dirt road, you can't miss it. The De Peres have got the reddest barn this side of Mormon town."
>I nod and begin adjust my kit as I set off
>but the instant I turn my back the body seemingly gets lonely once again
>"A-And hurry back now!" Cher Ami calls worriedly
>and as I reenter the wheat, her voice falls to a whisper even quieter than the rustle of grain around me as she returns to dangling alone
>"please…"