Condemned
Rachael Jones
As the rain rhythmically rapped the ground I cast my eyes downward. I saw not the clear reflective tarmac, but a color of rage, I saw red. Red, like anger, red like love, red, like a river flowing inside me. I saw a stone face, like a gargoyle, posing in a contorted mask of terror. Marble eyes looked beyond me, beseeching a specter that wasn’t there. A metallic clang brought me back to reality, and I saw for the first time what I had done. The rain pounded on the blade of the knife, washing away the evidence of my crime. A scream rang out inside my head, but dared not escape, lest I be found. I was a worried wreck. What would I tell them when they came? I thought of fleeing, or blaming another, but I knew I was now condemned. I was a dead man. I sat by the body, and reached for a cold, marble like hand. “Forgive me, I know not my crime. I do not believe you deserved to die.” I couldn’t hold back my sobbing, and contemplated taking my own life. Oh, how I wailed, on the ground pleading the uniformed men to let me stay. But they lifted me like a marionette, and dragged me in a way resembling a rag doll. They pushed me into the car, and I watched the rain fall on the windows. I wished that it could ooze into my mind to wash away my thoughts. I wished that it could pour into my heart to wash away my life. But I was already dead. I had been sentenced, and after what seemed like 10 lives, my door creaked open. Approaching me was a man in white. An Angel, I thought he was my guardian angel. He motioned for me to sit in a chair, and wheeled me away down the blank hallways. Stopping in a small room, I thought God had come to rescue me as I lay down again. But only more Angels waited, watching me with solemn looks upon their ashen faces. “Do you have any last requests?” one asked, so I requested they bring back the dead. “Sorry, we cannot do that.” These were no angels if they couldn’t bring my victim back. The rain fell from my cloudy eyes again, because I felt betrayed by the saviors in white. “Then I ask nothing of you, but to tell my story when it rains, to those who will listen.” As an answer, I felt a prick in each of my bare arms, heading to my poisoned veins. Cool rain was washing my insides, cleansing all of my impurities, heading for my heart. Then there was nothing but darkness enveloping me, and I knew it was finally over. It seemed like I was dead. “I’ve administered the sodium thiopental. He’s unconscious.” “Administering pancuronium…He’s relaxing…And, he’s paralyzed.” “Administering potassium chloride…He’s going into cardiac arrest.” “Time of death Wednesday August 19th 1:09 am”
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