The young man got up slowly and approached the cell bars, arms stretched out behind him to be cuffed, a ritual that was now a mere formality. The guard who cuffed him had been at the prison since he was a pimply faced kid, and knew better than to attempt conversation with the condemned inmate. Instead he silently opened the door and silently stepped aside for the inmate.
He was led to the laundry room behind the cell block, which was a make-shift execution room today. He wasn't taken to the proper execution chamber because his death was to be by firing squad, which had long been dropped from the list of allowed execution methods, due to questions asked of its effectiveness after an inmate bled for forty-one agonizing minutes before he died because the prison
The laundry room which was usually as bright as can be allowed in a prison was different today, all the windows were boarded up, and the walls were covered in black polythene. The room was divided across with a black, almost opaque curtain. He was led to the other side of the curtain where there was a seat, cushioned by sand bags on three sides, no doubt to absorb the blood. Every detail was thought through. Methodical.
After he had been strapped into the chair, his shirt removed, the doctor came in with a stethoscope to find his heart. After locating it, he taped a fluorescent paper on it, on the inmate's bare chest because the shirt was baggy and even the slightest shift could mean a slow painful death for the inmate. One had to wonder what he had done to be a death row doctor after several years of medical school. He left the inmate strapped to the chair in nothing but the torn blue jeans the prison had seen fit to provide for him. He wasn't allowed to choose his own clothes or wear any underwear- all part of the prisons way of finally humiliating him before killing him. He wondered if another person had died in these jeans, it was either that or the prison had a large supply of tattered torn jeans somewhere.
Finally the executioners arrived, five of them. He could see their silhouettes through the curtain. One of the guards came to place a black bag over his head, so they would not see his eyes through the curtain and chicken out. Everything was set up to make it easy for them, so they wouldn't hesitate when the moment came to pull the trigger. The curtain was black so the cowards could pretend they weren't killing a man, for he was practically invisible behind it. The only thing they could see through it was the white paper so it could as well have been target practice. Four of them were given live ammo and one of them was given a blank cartridge, so that they could all imagine they hadn't fired a fatal shot-if they so desired.
He was given a time window of two minutes for last words, he kept mute, refusing to hope for a miracle. The prospect of death could make even the most unrepentant cynic or sceptic believe in God. He would be different from those before him that had pleaded that their families be taken care of, or those that had asked for bulletproof vests or for the executioners to turn the other way- pleas disguised as jokes. He did not hope that the phone would ring, or a court injunction would arrive at the last minute. He was ready.
READY!
The executioners stood in a line in front of him. He wondered how many of them would be haunted by him, how many would go back to their beds and find him waiting. The thought of it made him smile. And then he thought how everybody in the room was not different from him, the doctor , the executioners with their rifles, all except the priest who had performed the last rites, they were all condemned.
AIM!
He wondered if the bullets would pierce his heart at the same time or if they would hit their target one after the other. Then he wondered if his chest muscles would slow down the bullets. He was well built and tall, he had spent up to 20 hours each week at the gym. Even after 10 years of prison food, he was still an impressive figure.
FIRE!
As he sat dying, he wondered if he should have spent more time at the gym.
