| abstract
| - "Mrs. Montgomery, follow me." Anyone could tell that wretch wasn't having his best day. I wondered if those words weren't overly polite. I mean, "Mrs?" That's not the kind of word you use to adress to someone in a situation like the one I was in. Furthermore, I was almost a hundred percent sure the guy crapped his pants at uttering such words. His face almost made me laugh. Of course, it was too fucking hard to laugh in that situation. But I almost did. I should have laughed; why, I wouldn't have the chance to laugh again in a while. Besides, the place I was most likely going to after it happened wouldn't be exactly the happiest place on Earth. But I remained quiet, because that guy just didn't seem to be in a good mood for a laughter, and I didn't want to get in a bigger heap of trouble, if that was even possible. I just followed him. I felt like pissing. Oh, the irony. The possibility of it all ending like that, with a full bladder and everything, tasted bitter in my mouth. I asked him, "Can I use the toilet?" Of course I couldn't. I guess too many people would've used that opportunity to escape from that, from everything that was yet to come, so he didn't trust me. Naturally. After all, I wouldn't need to piss after it was over, and, oddly enough, that really comforted me. Don't blame me; you haven't been in the same situation. My inevitable fate just seemed to me as the perfect excuse to hold on to every source of comfort as if it was my last one. In that case, it probably was. *** *** The man in blue pulled my arm. Guess I wasn't walking fast enough. Those bastards really couldn't wait to get rid of me. Well, I can't blame anyone. People are too hypocritic to question the common notion of right and wrong. I had done things people considered bad, and thus they thought I deserved to have the same fate. "An eye for an eye." No one disagreed with it, because no one was autonomous enough to counter everyone else and consider my side of the story in their judgement. That's how society works. *** *** While we walked through the hall, some people on my right tried to tease me with obscene gestures and indecent exposure, to be clean. No one there seemed to fancy me. Like that mattered. People had been hating me since I could remember; even with all the pressure of what was about to happen, I didn't mind two or three more disapproving faces. Partly because they wouldn't make any difference, partly because I wouldn't keep them on my mind for too long. A massive oblivion was about to take place in my mind. I had nothing to do but to accept it. *** *** I saw the daylight for the first time in a few weeks. It would probably happen outdoors. This could be good or bad, depending on the accuracy of those sattelite softwares. There are many necrophiliacs in this world, and if there was something I didn't need in my life was a sick guy opening Google Earth and jerking off to my dead body. Star, goosebumps, star. *** *** We kept walking. There was a big audience in the yard of the building. Ha, so many people waiting to watch something like that. That was almost funny. Almost. A situation like that hardly provides moments funny enough to actually be considered funny. And, though that situation was very ironical, it was still far from laughable. At least positively. One who lived the same life as mine and then watched me in that situation could easily keckle, but not because it was particularly funny—the laughable thing about that situation was its complete preposterousness. Considering all of its aspects, it was very preposterous—politically, perhaps, and only for those who know what a ridiculous thing the system can be. *** *** Someone tossed a tomato at my face. I probably deserved it, according to the moral standarts of the society. I didn't react. Some people in the audience were extremely happy to see me walking toward that wooden structure. I didn't react. The guy who pulled me whispered "See ya in hell, bitch." I didn't react. Then I looked at a crowd of patriots holding commemorative plaques with the colors of U.S. and glorifying the government for their decision. I'm afraid I reacted that time. *** *** The guys held me before I could teach a lesson to those bastard patriots. The fact that no one cared about my version of the story was quite annoying on itself; therefore, noticing some people were congratulating the government as if there was any merit in my doom was too outrageous for me to swallow it. I ran into the crowd, but they held me before anything could happen. If there's anything I hate the most in this world, is patriotism. Thinking your country is superior to the other ones just because you were born in it. Not paying attention to anything bad in your country and stating it's the best country in the world when it's really far from it. Having it as an excuse to do and say stupid things. All of that because of pieces of land. In one word: Bullshit. This time, there were two men in blue carrying me to the wooden structure. *** *** Suddenly, the wooden structure was in front of me. It looked like oak. That was somewhat good. The guys told me to get on it. I walked toward the stairs. They didn't leave my side. That was touching. I hesitated before walking onto the stairs. For the first time in the day, everyone was immersed in a dead silence. Each step I took on the wooden stairs sounded as loud as a gunshot. Maybe it was all psychological, but I couldn't tell. No one could. The tension that revolved around the platform had shut everyone up. And I kept walking. *** *** I was finally on the platform. A murmur went through the audience before me. Finally, the judge showed up in those queer judge clothes, and went up the stairs—much quicker than me, I must admit. I guess he was free from all the tension of the moment. He probably had done that many times before. It was just another day of work for him. Of course, it wasn't quite the same thing for me. At last, he was standing next to me on the platform. Only then, I noticed a guy was standing next to us. I assumed he was the executioner. *** *** "Isabelle Montgomery, you are under arrest by Canadian courts for damage to government property, traison, illegal possession of weapons, flee from justice, psychological damage and attempted murder, and by American courts for illegal immigration, degree murder, flee from justice, illegal possession of weapons, and mass murder," said the judge. The rope was around my neck. The executioner was waiting for his cue. No noise could be heard except for the judge's voice. I sighed. That was actually going to happen. Suddenly, my life flashed before my eyes. Okay, that's kinda cliché, but there was a context. I was getting killed for what I had done. But then I wondered if what I had done was actually wrong. I had never killed someone for no reason. I had never commited a crime for no reason. It was all in a context. I wasn't a threat to society; I was helping it. But I guess most people were too busy getting shocked at the bloodstains in my history to care for it. I sighed again. Surprisingly, I didn't freak out. I didn't think capital punishment was wrong. People are like plants; when a weed comes to light, you can't just give it an earful and hope it works. You have to cut it. The only thing I was disappointed at was the irony of the situation. I really didn't plan to die ironically. But I accepted it. And the judge kept speaking. At least I had learned one thing from my experiences: The power of a melee weapon. A gun needs bullets, a bow needs arrows, a taser needs electricity. But a knife doesn't need anything but itself and a good handler. Even when it's just an ordinary knife, it's still a knife. It still has the same power to kill, destruct and harm. There's no need to reload it or aim it. And we can't question its power. It could have been different if I hadn't fled from Canada; there is no capital punishment there. However, if I had stayed in Canada and hadn't got caught by the police, my fate would probably be the same. Hanging is the most common suicide method in Canada, and that wouldn't be exactly the right situation to be original. The executioner was ready to pull the rope. A sack was covering my head. Everyone was looking at me. A pastor finished his prayer. Just the protocol. I had been absolutely quiet all the time. But then, in the spur of the moment, I yell "I was helping you, you little bastards! I see ya in h-"
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)