Today was to be my last day on this earth, around all these people. How strange to think that tomorrow, when the sun rose, I would not see it. I had pondered death before and had been branded morbid and freakish for it but I always had to think ahead, to plan. The one time I had neglected to do so. Well. This was the product of my lacking in planning, looking ahead. My death and, soon after it, the death of those I should care about. I didn’t of course, how could I care for such insensitive people whose only desire was to see the world burn and then perish in those same flames. Complete destruction, devastation, Armageddon, none of those things were what I wanted, what I had rebelled for. I had a cause and a justified one, at least from my perspective. How wrong was it to avenge the murder of your family and your only love in this life? I had fought back in as brutal a way as I could but I had always made sure that no person could come to any bodily harm from my actions, could die from those attacks I had organised. Till that fatal error I had made, an error for whom two innocent families had lost their lives for, an error I was soon to start payment for with my own blood. If there was something beyond death it was sheer cruelty that would separate me from those who I had attempted to avenge. Was it irony? More importantly, did I really care? Did I actually believe in anything beyond this world? No, I most certainly did not. All there was, was life and then death, an endless abyss of darkness that none of us could ever escape from, no matter what we did. The only way to escape this void was through immortality but that was impossible, at least physically. Spiritually however, was I not about to achieve immortality? To be forever remembered as a callous murderer until the day when my true story was uncovered, my cause. Then they would weep, some of them lament at how cruel fate had been to me. The usual tragedy except there was a large difference. This tragedy was happening to me, had happened to me and it was about to end. I was allowed to see the sunset then and only then would I die before so many, all assembled with hate in their hearts. Through a small window in my cell I could see, see as the sun slowly began to sink away, the sky darkening as it did. How quick would it be? How painful would it be, more to the point? Would I scream? Cry? Beg for mercy upon my knees? No, no. I would never do that; I would no longer be myself if I did. I would be someone else, a coward, afraid to pay the price for the wrong I had done. Nothing, not even a pardon for my crime, would ever erase my guilt. I knew what I had done and I knew that I was guilty and I would die because of it. If they did not dispose of me and I was unable to dispose of myself then I would die, inside. Everything that was me would melt away, disappear, buried, dead forever and all that would be left would be an empty shell or a raving madness. A spiritual death or a physical death? Which was worse? Could I ever have the choice between them? Was there really any difference? No, death is death, always had been and always will be, no matter what form it arrives in. These manacles, rings of metal secured round my wrists, binding me to my fate, cut into my skin and, even as I watched with a critical eye, I could see some blood, my blood. Good, let it come, let it seep from my body and cover these manacles, the walls, the floor, anything and everything. To be perfectly honest I could not help but get some sick pleasure from the pain, the metal tearing at my skin. Yes, pain, pain, pain. I deserved it, I deserved the pain I was in now, the pain I was soon to face. Physical pain though, now as I stood rigid as a statue in this cell, did not affect me much. No, my focus was upon making sure the tortured screams of my soul in agony would not escape from me. My lips pressed tightly together, my long nails biting into my palms. More pain, more pain. I deserved it, I longed for it with a desperate desire entirely alien to me. What had I become in those few months since the deaths of those innocent people, so much before them, so many more opportunities before they were wiped from existence. I had delivered all of them to death with a smile on my face and now I was going to walk to death with the same smile on my lips. Defiantly I would accept my fate, the judgement passed upon me, with arms opened wide. Who would stop me? No one would stop me, even if they wanted to. It had been ruled that I would die on this day and so I would die on this day. It was simple, easy enough to understand. Others in my situation, with death looming, grinning menacingly at them, would do anything and everything to avoid it, to prolong a tortured existence they were blissfully unaware of. How horrifyingly fascinating that blood had to be spilled, innocents had to die, before a person could see the cruelty of the world, of life and begin to comprehend what really lay beyond. Some would turn to religion of course, feverishly believing in some God, hoping that this divine being they had mocked and refused to acknowledge any evidence of it’s existence, would save their soul. Others would go mad with the idea, the thought of death. Others would plead, beg, and bargain anything and everything, be willing to make a deal with any form of Devil just to preserve their meaningless life. Then there were those few, like me, who stayed silent, silent and still, in perfect acceptance that this was the end and that they would die very soon. It brought certain calmness with it; unnatural some had whispered, many years before, concerning some other soul. Peace was an accurate description but I could not think of it as peace, perhaps tranquillity but not peace. Peace was not what I deserved.
“I know it was an accident” A whisper, quick whisper from the guard and an apologetic smile, an overwhelming sadness in his eyes. Yes, this guard he knew. He knew all about me, my entire story, everything that had been covered up. An accident. He might describe it as that but I could not, it was no accident. It was a mistake; my mistake and it had cost lives. How could I live with myself, even for these handful of minutes that had been thrown to me before death? How could I live with myself knowing what I had done? The blood on my hands was it mine or was it theirs? I could see the wounds; I could see my blood oozing from them but was it really my blood? The guard, the smile had disappeared on his face and been replaced with genuine concern, the sorrow had not left his eyes though, it would only disappear when I could see it no longer, see anything no longer. He had noticed the blood; he was trained to notice it. Suicide, would he think of that? Some strange attempt at suicide? No. He knew better than that, he would know it was not that, just as he would know it would be better not to ask why I was bleeding. He was a smart creature, fantastic personality and character, such a forgiving, nurturing disposition. He could see the truth, no matter how cleverly it was hidden; he would always see the truth. He was one of those few people you have to be incredibly lucky to find. Was my discovery of him as my guard some indication that maybe I was not as guilty as I had originally thought? Some may perceive that but I, I would not. No matter what I was given, nothing but death could ever come anywhere near close to absolving my sin, banishing my guilt, starting to repay my debt. It was always paid with blood was it not? It always had been, in one way or another. Blood for blood, life for life, death for death. One of my companions, the young peroxide blonde, and those screams I could hear now were hers. The screams echoing down the corridor. She was not to die; she was being transferred to a mental institution where she would be treated and hopefully rehabilitated into society. The others, they would die a day or so after me but why should I think of them? To banish, even for a few moments, my fast approaching death from my thoughts would be disastrous. When I returned once more to it in my mind I knew I would gasp, some sound professing to weakness, and a tear, one single salty tear, would snake its way down my cheek. I was strength, a pillar of strength, something to admire and to hold onto, a symbol of strength. I could not be weak, betray any weakness. I must stride out there, proud and strong as I had always been seen. I would show nobody what I really was, who I really was inside. No one would know in those moments before death, as was the case with so many others, who I really am, was. Not even the kind hearted, gentle guard who now fumbled with his keys before fitting them into the lock and swinging open the cell door. He held out his large hand for me to take. He would lead me, in more than one sense of the word, towards my death. I felt my lips twitch into what I hoped would be a small smile. How else could I repay his kindness? The replying respectful bow of the head was an indication that I had indeed smiled ever so slightly. I could barely feel it though, I could barely feel anything. The pressure of my hand upon my cold cheek, I could just feel that. With that same hand I took his and shuffled forward, out of the cell and into the corridor. Turning my head to glance behind me I just caught sight of the blonde, that petite little girl who had desperately tried to be anything and everything other than herself, waving at me, her mouth opened in a small ‘o’, a few tears in her eyes and slipping down her face. I had attempted to mentor her, push her in the right direction, away from me and all I was involved in. I had failed to a certain degree. She was not to die after all and that was, in some way, an achievement on my part but mostly on hers of course. She had proven, when it really mattered, who she was and it was that, that which had saved her life. Nothing could have saved mine.
“She will be safe. I will make sure of it, for you” The guard promised, Derek his name was. I turned my back on the little blonde, Kristy, and continued my slow shuffle down the corridor, my grip slight on Derek’s hand, at least till we passed through the door at the end of the corridor. A fair few people were all assembled waiting for me. As Derek pushed the door open every one of their heads turned to me. The sky was a deep blood red, how appropriate. It was them, all those men and woman waiting for me, now glaring at me with hatred, who had voted upon how I was to die. A single shot to the head, quite merciful by my standards. As Derek led me forward, I tipped my head back and straightened my body, my grip on his hand increasing. He kept his gaze firmly ahead, quickly squeezing my hand to let me know that he was there, that he knew. We stopped then turned to face the crowd, the gunman a few feet away from us, his expression one of stone. Derek took a small silver key from his pocket and, hands shaking released me from my manacles, my blood smeared across his fingers as he stepped away then quickly hurried away.
“Louisa Blake, you have been found guilty of leading terrorist activities and the murder of Jennifer Leigh, Michael Leigh, Alison Leigh, Stephanie Leigh, Joseph Howard, Anne Howard and Oliver Howard. This assembly has sentenced you to death. Do you have any last words?” A strong, commanding voice came from somewhere in the crowd, from where and who I did not care. All those names, they could not have just numbered them. No, they had given their names and with each name I could see each face. Two girls, Alison and Stephanie Leigh of eight years old and the boy, Oliver Howard, merely two and a half. What a monster I was.
“I am guilty and I deserve nothing less than death. Upon my command those seven people died and, upon your command, I too shall die. My blood for their blood, my life for their life, my death for their death, nothing less than that” My voice was croaky from lack of use but there was silence, everyone had heard me and, as I looked out at them all, I could spot a few faces in the crowd who had some emotion on them other than hatred. Sorrow. The same sorrow that was in Derek’s eyes. Others, shock, for how many criminals admitted their guilt and then admitted that they deserved death? I took a few steps backward at the same moment as the gunman took a few steps forward then a few steps to the side. He was directly before me now, a reasonable distance away, his expression the same as it had been before, nothing. Blank as he lifted his gun and aimed with an expert eye. I took a deep breath and raised my eyes to the heavens. A blood red sky, how appropriate.
