It was a perfect day to die; with the taste of his final meal still strong on his tongue and the scent of wine still in his breath the man took long, purposeful strides up the scaffold stairs. Upon reaching the center, the rope dangling in the soft midmorning breeze he tossed the somber faced man a coin purse and gave a jovial smile. “What an occupation! To make a full purse and an additional tidy sum, all for the labor of pulled a lever!”

The executioner’s knuckles grew white as he griped the sword at his waist. He nodded to the accompanying guards. Both men were dressed in full armor, their gleaming helms included. The man knew that they had to be sweating like pigs beneath the chainmail and leather and found it ironic that he; a condemned man would be the most comfortable here on the scaffold. 

Women in the crowd called to him, for even though he was a traitor he was still as charming and handsome nearest to death than he was at any point in his short, but fulfilling life. Some beseeched him to pray for forgiveness and to repent and that if he did so he would not burn in Hell within the half hour but rest in Heaven.

But what fun was eternal paradise to a man such as himself? He had lived his life surrounded by the finest. The best food, wine, music, art and people. Every whim of his had been catered to, be it by his army of servants, the politicians under his thumb or his own actions and yet he had still grown bored. It had been that accursed boredom that had driven him to murder in the very beginning, and the sweet satisfactions it had given him to continue.

Yes, Hell sounded far more interested to a man such as Lorenzo.
A raised his hand to the multitudes who called to him. “Farewell my friends.” His eyes scoped the gathering crowd. “I am quite positive I will see a majority of you again.”

Lorenzo remembered his final words to the priest they had sent to his cell the night before last. The man had been justifiably timid, white in the face with shaky hands. He had been right to be afraid, for Lorenzo had been captured after his murder on Holy grounds, an act unforgivable even in God’s eyes.

Biting into an apple he smiled charmingly at the elderly priest. The old man held the bible before him, as if he planned to use it as a shield. “Do you repent my son?”

“I am not sorry for the life I lived, for then I would be saying I did not enjoy my life. And that…” Lorenzo had chuckled and taken another large bite from the juicy red fruit. “Would be a grotesque lie Father.”

The executioner read the charges aloud, but Lorenzo did not bother to listen; he knew his deeds and instead he let his mind run through his favorites, those that were not written on the parchment but engraved into his very soul. In the distance he heard the church bells begin to toll. Lorenzo hated those bells, and was glad he would not be hearing them again after today.

On the twelfth ring he was shoved forward and his neck cradled in the noose. The knot pressed into the back of his skull, making him chuckle to himself as he thought of the dozens of times he had fallen asleep on golden goblets of wine.

“Lorenzo the Terrible, you have been judged by the law, and sentenced to death. May God and his angels have mercy on your soul.”

Lorenzo turned around and smiled. “Oh, I certainly hope they do not forgive the life I lived for myself, but envy it.”

Lorenzo turned back to the crowd, threw back his head and laughed loudly. He laughed with such gusto and volume, that he did not even hear the level be pulled, nor the door beneath his feet fall open.