Escape...

Sometimes I wonder, as I sit motionless, my knees bent 45 degrees with hands clasped around them, head drooped in fatigue, if this is truly the punishment I deserve.  I've shot a few people, stabbed a few people, cut a few throats but they all deserved it.  No one was going to just hand me credits and say "go make a life" so I made the best one I knew how.  I started doing favors for this local guy who lent credits to people.  He would give people thousands of credits.  He wasn't a saint but he helped the neighborhood stay a float.  He was a man of means and was always well dressed, had a new car and a woman for each arm.  I wanted to be like him so badly that I talked to anyone I could about joining his crew.  Eventually word got back to him.  Turned out he was pretty big on keeping his "philanthropy" a secret and to keep me quiet he allowed me to pay a visit to a few of his clients to remind them of what and who they owe.

It took me being caught and sentenced to realize that people are scum.  They sooner spit on you than help.  The world is cold place where every olive branch is more often than not, poison to the touch.  Every hand outstretched in friendship will turn into a fist when the time came that you were no longer useful.  I've had to defend myself a few times in here so I don't wait for them to make the first move anymore.  I earned a living by collecting bad debts, giving them what they deserve if they don't have the means or will to pay.  They would do the same to me if given the chance.  I just made sure they didn't have it.  Now I'm scheduled to die because life dealt me a crap hand and I decided to kill the dealer.




"Prisoner #05091983"

What the hell....?

"PRISONER #05091983.....STAND UP AND PREPARE FOR YOUR SENTENCE TO BE CARRIED OUT."


I was unprepared for the intensity of the lights and sounds that followed.  The men that burst into my "home" of 5 years were every bit as cold and indifferent in their handling of my malnourished body as the walls were to my need for conversation.  My knees left a tinge of red on the filthy floor that marked my departure from solitude to my impending date with oblivion.  Obviously since my punishment was death, careful handling of such a prisoner wasn't required.  The marks the butts of their rifles made on my face told me that dignity wasn't high on the priority list for a prisoner like myself either.  A few years ago they would have been laying in a pool of their own blood for having handled me so roughly....uniform or no uniform.  Now, however, the inability of my body to what I tell it to do spares them my wrath.

******************

The execution chamber was ironically cleaner than the holding cell.  Neutral colored walls, a clean floor and an observation window for all who came to watch..."justice".  A cold smile creeps across my face with each restraint they attach to my body.  The filtered air feels cool on my face.  I'm almost annoyed they cleaned me up.  As if I need to be presentable to the God they believe they're sending me to.

I wish I believed in Him he way they do.  I wish He believed in me or I probably wouldn't even be here.


My handlers put on a good show for the 25 or people on the other side of the glass.  So much care was being put into ensuring my comfort and dignity as opposed to the brutal cell extraction I experienced earlier.