The Condemned, Frye

The Condemned.

Theres a man sitting at a table, with an expression on his face that I cannot completely explain. Grief, worry, confusion, regret perhaps? Sitting in a dimly candle lit chamber built of stone. A guard stands by the door, bowl of food in the corner, a tattered book and hat thrown upon the floor. He sits at the table thinking of his life, hoping for a miracle, waiting for his death, for he is the condemned.