Author's note: forgive me for the length, forgive me for being constatly esoteric and forgive me for being.


There is only one truly beautiful place in this town. Truth be told, I would have said there are more of them in the past but they chopped down my favourite trees. The untouched are already crucified, so it is a question of when, not if. All that is left in this hole are the sepulchral crow swarms. And one alley. I could not count the amount of times I have walked through it, I believe all of the townsfolk had a walk through it at least once; it is an unavoidable derivative, want you this or not. As I had a long lunch break, I decided to lead myself down the alley and discovered a little hill nearby. You can't really call it a hill - if you turn back you'll understand, that the sidewalk is almost at the same level as the slope of the little hill, so I never looked back. A few trees and a sufficient height made an outright seperation of me and the passers-by. I could observe them with no disturbance and they had little to no suspicion. Although, things sometimes turned against me, too - someone, without any kind of well-grounded reasons, would look above and, of course, then they would see me. Good thing I always had a book with myself: I'd cover my face with it in a quick manner, so that I would have an eccentric reason to sit on this hill, above all of the passers-by. Those that dare to look wouldn't turn their glares off me for a while - doesn't matter whether my face is visible or not, it's still quite unusual that a man is reading a book in such a place during such a daytime. Of course, that is better than being caught doing nothing, that is, observing people. However, rarely do they lift their glares from the ground. And even when they do, it seems it's just an accident.

But I am hiding in a book only from those that I recognize. I feel equal with those whom I never met with and I stare at them as impudently as they stare at me. We roam through each other's faces as if through a mist and secretly I am contemplating whether the height distorts my impression to the passer-by. Hopefully, not. I would like to make a beautiful impression to a stranger. I desire to be worthy of hypothesis, even if one would last a second.

- Do you need any help?

My hand quickly grabbed the thick book cover (my instincts became that strong) but after a short moment I have realized that this man, standing in front of me under the tree shadows, is merely a stranger. "Very well," I thought. "I have no reason to hide. But he spoke to me. I have no indication of my further behaviour." For a few moments I've simply continued to gaze at him in an impudent manner, fixing my shoulder-length hair - I was a naive fool to believe that this man will silently retreat after he'd realize that I am planning to give no answer, but he was clearly fixated on me. He was in his early twenties, tall, hair - dark and curled, quite thin and with obvious black circles under his eyes. But it didn't affect his appearence, moreover, it made him look more charismatic. I couldn't understand how such a frightfully looking man could appear to be so insolent. First of all, he asked whether I need help, which, essentially, is quite ethical, but not here, not in this case. But most importantly is that he broke the codex between me and the passers-by. No one ever speaks. Only looks. After all, we are representing completely different sides. And once even the slightest detail of the codex is broken, a sequence of further infringements follows.

- What are you waiting for?
- Executioner. - I blurted.
- Executor? - The man repeatedly asked.
- No, no. Executioner.

The stranger nodded his curly head in an understanding manner.

- Do you have a name? - I decided to destroy the silence between us.
- The way you ask is bizarre. - The stranger puts his hands into pockets; his face looked more miserable every second. - How can you not have a name?
- You can not have a name, - Somewhere far away political advertisements are trumpeting through the flat-screen TVs. - And you can acquire one.
- My name is Otto. - He glared at his little watch. - Your Executor - is he going to be there soon?
- Executioner. - I correct Otto. - I don't know. You cannot disturb him.
- That is true. Arrogant, is he not?
- Depends on how you look at it. Truth be told, I would like to leap into his arms.
- To leap into Execu...tioner's arms? - Otto seems surprised. - Now I understand why you are waiting.
- I love Executioner from all my heart.
- But is it not your types that cannot love?
- Perhaps we loved a thousand times and never recognized it. Perhaps we never loved, but always remained to have faith.

Otto nodded, turned on his heel and disappeared into the alley. I was thankful. He broke the passer-by codex, but at least he left without words. Whatever he thought of my stupid remark about Executioner. From now on I've decided that whoever will try to speak with me (and that is very possible, as I have already mentioned that even the slightest infringement causes a line of other disruptions), I will answer one and same thing. I am waiting for Executioner.

- Do you---
- I am waiting for Executioner.

I became ill, you understand, very ill due to these massive codex violations, but I cannot reverse things now, can I. I had to tell them at once what I was doing here. And the question of this blonde, Scandinavian looking young man could have been completely different than Otto's, but I simply couldn't hold myself. This waiting business has become not only an affair of mine, but also an affair of the passers-by. I felt a lump in my throat; when did I become such a tragedy? It seemed that only a short while ago I've been simply observing people and now I am declaring radical truth upon them. Just look at his glare - I can bet that he is observing me at this very moment. Hopefully, my words made him lose his ground, that this remark of mine sent a pang to his heart and that it is all worthy of a hypothesis. I desire at least a second-lasting hypothesis.

- Good. - The blonde man answered calmly. - The Executor is on his way.
- Executioner. - I correct him. - Who are you?
- My name is Hans. Executioner's second in line emissary. - He falls silent for a while. - Otto was a third in line emissary.
- Executioner - will he come? - I gently asked.
- Yes, he can't ignore you. To me, it seems that he can't even be half-hearted towards you.
- That would be the first good thing happening to me in many days.
- But is it not Executioner's love that is prejudicial?
- A nameless and faceless love scares you? - I smiled whilst observing Han's face, the latter becoming gradually paler.
- But... - The young man stuttered in shock. - Is it not your words... that one can acquire a name?
- Essentially, it doesn't matter. - I closed my eyes, still smiling. - We don't need a name. We're perfectly happy without it.  
Moment of silence.
- Have you seen it? They chopped down the trees.
- Yes. - Hans still stood in utter shock.
- That is so very sad. It's hard to forget what a beautiful place it used to be once everything would flourish. I used to be angry due to the inability of capturing the scenery in film. It always seemed as if it's a bad frame, as if something's left out. But in reality, it looked nearly perfect. I wanted to give that picture as a gift.
- To whom? - The young man flinched.
- To a person who's name I value the most.
- More than Executioner's?
- Executioner is not even a name.

The rain drops started falling on my book and I've shut it. You could see from Han's face that he had ambitions to stand there for an eternity. The rain started pouring, but we stayed in our positions - me on top of the little hill and him, standing in front of an empty sidewalk.

- Do you remember the swings? - We were of the same age, perhaps I was younger, but me being higher made its own impression. - The swings and the rain drops. I'm observing the swings. You're the one who's swinging. Up and down. Up and down. Light as a feather. The art of letting go. - A smile ran through my face. - He's not coming, is he? The Executioner.
- I... - The blonde man was shaking in the midst of rain. - I am sorry for your loss.
- We never really had anything, thus we never lost anything.
- But he was coming, he really was. He couldn't even be half-hearted towards you.

That said, he suddenly ran away from me, turning back a few times. I thought that it's even worse to Hans and Otto than it is to me. It is true, I've lost my Executioner, but they've lost their employer. It's difficult to find a job these days. Hell, even me - I am sending letters in the name of His Excellency. You think that it's a tiring job? No, not at all. That's due to His Excellency being a calm, wordless man. That is why I respect him; that is why it is so easy to write in his name. Besides, you can see Eden's park from my office window. Once you're there, you'll never come back.

- Excuse me, young man! - A red haired woman stops me in the alley, we look at each other's faces being at the same level and I find it quite unusual. - Do you know what time is it?
- I am waiting for Executioner.
- What? - The woman took off her glasses and looked at me in an odd way.
- That is the hour. The hour of waiting.
- Ah, it's you. Normally, I would say that you're a lunatic, but I know all about the Executioner. - She waved her hand towards the television sets in a nearby showcase. - You've lost him, haven't you? They're showing it on the national television.
It's true. Executioner's face is all over the screen. It was hard to see through: the showcases were rainy and it seemed that Executioner is crying.
- Tom, - The woman hastily spoke. - Was Executioner's first in line emissary. He was the only one who knew Executioner's name the way it is, others would always warp it into something different - Executor, for example... It's a shame you haven't met him - I think you're rushing to work, aren't you? Executioner was very lonely. But to you he couldn't even be half-hearted.
- Executioner, - Steps echoing on the sidewalk tiles. - Is not even a name.

I clutched my fists and with no further disturbance reached my work. The tops of the trees of Eden park are already visible. Every worker has to introduce themselves once they come back. Of course, I skip this procedure. At times, I make a good laugh by tricking the system.

- Sigurd. - I am smiling to the screen in front of myself.
- Sublime. - The voice from within. - It suits you. I always thought that you look as if you were blessed by Odin.
- So, it means I look happy?

Apparently, the whole building gathered in my little, cramped office. Even His Excellency and all the ministers. On my desk there was a newspaper with a headline: "The loss of Executioner."

- We are so sorry.
- We didn't know.
- We bought you flowers. Are roses fine?
- Didn't you mention that you're allergic to roses?
- No, I think it was something about you accepting only orchids and roses are only whilst visiting?
- But didn't you come from a place with roses? That place that looks like straight out of a fairytale.
- At the end of the day, what difference does it make! We are deeply sorry for your loss.
- Please, don't be silent, we are worried for you. We're begging you.
- He's simply strong, just think about it: what would you do if you were in his place - to lose the one that you loved the most.
- But is it not your types that cannot love?
- Sh!
- But is it not Executioner's love that is prejudicial?
- Silence!
- So, how's it going to be now? We do remember that night, don't we, when you woke up in the hospital. How that prosecutor, a slim man with a power of a beast and a long, long tongue and dark eyes and a grey costume grinned, took out his long knife and started waving it in the air!
- And how that prosecutor with all the judges and all of the jury started shouting: "Like a dog! Like a dog!"
- And the he stabbed you from all his heart!
- You're a political criminal! Your crime - apostasy!
- How many people fell to pieces because of you! How many buildings collapsed...
- And now you've lost your Executioner! You heartless, heartless monster, what will you do now?

A sound of a creaking chair. Interlocked hands near the newspaper and bouqets of roses.

- The loss of Executioner means only one thing - amnesty.

For a moment all stood silent, but soon a never seen fuss commenced.

- But what about us?
- What of our crimes?
- They are inferior compared to yours, but why do we still have our Executioners? Why do they still send their emissaries to follow us? Why is our suffering still so very much intact?
- It's not right! - Someone throws a bouqet of flowers to the ground. - I desire amnesty, too!
- Perhaps we loved a thousand times and never recognized it. Perhaps we never loved, but always remained to have faith. - A smile cascading through a noble face. - I will wait for my Executioner's return.