The Hanging (very short story)

A very short story, kind a like a moment showcasing a fear most people have.

hanging.. now thats a hell of a word to describe it. It has a meaning that twists and bends, coiling around happily on the sound. Hanging.. Yes i think that works quite nicely.

Death, Morality was certainly an idea that had been hanging in her thoughts for weeks, months maybe. Heck it was probably longer, she could scarcely remember a time when the dull word didn't droop and trail as she walked. 

Describing it as a weight though wouldn't do the sensation justice, it could certainly be heavy, but then other times it was light, light enough that she forgot it was there. So light that it lifted her away from her troubles climbing high above her shoulders so that her feet hung just above the ground. But then other times perhaps for weeks or more it tore her down, latched to the floor. It was for her definitely a funny thing to carry around. 

As she walked she would see people all around walking on just fine. People occasionally would give her a nice smile, briskly hurrying to work. Their shadows accompanying them silhouetted against the pavement.

But her shadow was different to theirs, they didn't have to share like she did. sometimes it felt small and weak, when this happened she could feel more bold. Almost to the point where she knew she was just like everyone else, this made her so happy she would often think that she could with her hands tear and rip the rope. Violently and passionately expel it from her life. 

When she was with people, not thinking she thought she hid it so no one would notice. This made her feel much better, forgetting the rope existed was about the kindest thing she could do for herself in those moments. After all nothing ruins the mood faster than a hanging.  

But then it got bigger. The people on the street bump and shake, sliding into one. Shes not sure what scares here more now the rope or the thought that she can't be like them. But she wasn’t quite right, looking across from the street there stood a man this time. Unlike him she would not of noticed how walking by the surrounding light reflected softly off of her skin, or how strong and straight her posture was. To the man she did not look weak or depressed for from it. For him she had blended quite seemlessly into the vast numbers of the people around her.

He too possessed a weight in his life but for him it was not so much a chain but an ache. It was always there and always painful, so generally he tried not to think about it. But for him this woman seemed intriguing and of course beautiful.