A constant cloud follows him, it carries the mistakes he’s made. He feels the shunning as he walks down the street. Just freed only mere weeks ago. He has sinned but was not convicted. The townspeople talk quietly amongst themselves. The jury has set this ogre of a man free to roam the streets. Hunched over in tattered clothes, “he deserves nothing,” many people say. Tomorrow he may take the town by storm and do to them as he did his wife. The people do not want him; they hit and scold him as if he had hurt them. He cannot take this abuse any longer. He decides it is time to pay his debt; he cannot take the everlasting banter any longer. He puts the bottle to his lip and drinks it down. He goes out to the willow and lays next to her he pulls the trigger. The next day they found him laying there beneath the willow, with a note that said I’ll love her till I die. To end the life of the murdered couple the angels above them sang a whiskey lullaby.