The day had come for him. Last night he had his last meal of butter chicken and nana. Today, there were marching him from his cell in the best clothes he would ever wear. Prisoners stared at him curiously behind their bars. Some grinned, some looked grimly on and one even tried to grab his arm to have a lathi smash down on his bone. He yelped and jumped back. Around him guards marched, attired in their fresh kakhi uniform, his escorts out of here.
The metallic gate was already swung open and fat Ram stood at the door way with his belly pouring out his uniform. He shabbily saluted the officers with the marching prisoner and nodded his acknowledge the prisoner for the last time.
From the shady prison house, they stood out in the bright sun. Instinctively his arm jerked up, his fingers all extended from his palms and he tried to block the light out of his eyes. His destination was not far away from the prison, his final freedom.
Grieved relatives and parents all sat there. Not his own, but his victims. They led him up the wooden staircase and up the platform.
“You are sentence to death…”, one the officers who was marching with him announced. His only reply was silence. A quick scan of the audience revealed no one of his blood, no one of his own.
“Do you have any last words?”, the question was asked. Once again, his reply was one of silence.
His last thoughts were on his crime, on the lives he took away.
A black cloth was put over his face. Then came the rough course noose that the skin on his neck could feel. Would it be a quick death or would the noose jerk miss?, thought the dead man.
‘Click’.
The floor underneath him swung open. His body fell down. The noose hit Adam’s apple, tightly wrapping itself around his neck.
And just like that his life was extinguished… just like a mallet made the judgement for his death… just like a society clamoured for his death. A stain that would fade away into nothingness, only remembered by the hand that put black mask on his head, the noose around his neck and the final pull of the lever that killed him, the executioner.
The metallic gate was already swung open and fat Ram stood at the door way with his belly pouring out his uniform. He shabbily saluted the officers with the marching prisoner and nodded his acknowledge the prisoner for the last time.
From the shady prison house, they stood out in the bright sun. Instinctively his arm jerked up, his fingers all extended from his palms and he tried to block the light out of his eyes. His destination was not far away from the prison, his final freedom.
Grieved relatives and parents all sat there. Not his own, but his victims. They led him up the wooden staircase and up the platform.
“You are sentence to death…”, one the officers who was marching with him announced. His only reply was silence. A quick scan of the audience revealed no one of his blood, no one of his own.
“Do you have any last words?”, the question was asked. Once again, his reply was one of silence.
His last thoughts were on his crime, on the lives he took away.
A black cloth was put over his face. Then came the rough course noose that the skin on his neck could feel. Would it be a quick death or would the noose jerk miss?, thought the dead man.
‘Click’.
The floor underneath him swung open. His body fell down. The noose hit Adam’s apple, tightly wrapping itself around his neck.
And just like that his life was extinguished… just like a mallet made the judgement for his death… just like a society clamoured for his death. A stain that would fade away into nothingness, only remembered by the hand that put black mask on his head, the noose around his neck and the final pull of the lever that killed him, the executioner.
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