The Walk

Something I wrote a while back

The Walk

Walking has always been a major love in his life. The more so as autumn merged into winter; the park was carpeted with frail fallen leaves as birds and other life forms waged the daily struggle to survive. It was not easy. Walking led to deep thought.

Naked trees yearned upward. Even within vulnerability and frailty was the knowledge that he must go on. Gulls called, he looked up as he often did. Now, it was all memories.

The killing was a memory. Nobody had wanted to know how he felt; the pain of violation by events beyond his control. There was the hurt of final betrayal yet, killing the one who betrayed him achieved no real freedom.

Earlier the chaplain had been; he would come again. They had prayed the prayer left by Jesus “Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.” Yet, it was beyond him, mercy was his resting place and abiding hope. Someone spoke his name and said �"

“It’s time”

The Chaplain was beside him, this was the final walk. Entering the shed he climbed the gallows stairs. While waiting he spoke �"

“ I have no fear of death. I fear only a life where none wish to see clearly. A life where expression of rage and pain is stifled. A life where hurt and killing are as coldly premeditated as my death is now. I have never been brutalized as you who now kill me are. Killing me is wrong, the rage and pain inflicted on me are wrong…even now may forgiveness come where it is needed.”

Distantly a Gull cried

“I’m ready”

The Chaplain read, “Yeah though I walk through the valley of the shadow…”

Darkness, the rope…

“Thou art with me”

The drop; motionless in space

“Thy rod and staff comfort me”

The chaplain closed his book.

George Coombs (310 words)