Beyond the Weeping Hills

A procession of sinners is headed today towards a morbid destiny, and by the grace of God I have been chosen to prevent them from going astray. One after another they climb the scaffold. One after another they march towards the pitfall to hell. Their eyes are covered behind a red cloth, lips sewn together lest they choose to infest the crowd with their poisonous words. They are forced up the wooden staircase. Beneath their feet the floorboards creak. An occasional cough can be heard from those who have gathered to witness the sinners' demise. When the noose is around the neck of the first sinner, silence nestles between us all, giving me a chance to mark my presence. "It is now my turn to climb these stairs not as a sinner but a saint", I begin to exclaim, "it is time to punish those who put their own pleasure above the greater good of their fellow men!"

My words echo through the courtyard yet hold no meaning to my ears, for the sinners are still breathing the same air I breathe.
All ears are now pricked up, all eyes affixed on my lips.

Once on the platform, my mouth begins to move and charges are read aloud. The crowd is listening intently. Even the ground refuses to breathe. After a while I begin to wonder whether my words hold any value, or whether it's the obligation the crowd feels towards our sacred ritual that causes them to commit. Soon their identities begin to vanish. I can feel their souls leaving their bodies, joining to become one and united under a common cause.

Beyond the heap of white flesh amassed in the courtyard, over the hills that mark the boundary between the prison and our civilized nations, and behind the mountains that emerge out of earth like stoney fingers pointing to the heavens, sun takes its refuge in a land invisible to the naked eye. And as the last ounce of warmth is taken away from sinners and saints alike, the final charge is read.

The blindfolds must now be removed, but only long enough for the sinners to gaze into the eyes of men and women and children they have betrayed. Through their crimes they went against the contract that our society was built upon, and it is now with their blood that this contract must be signed. I stare into their eyes as the blindfolds are taken off one by one. Nothing but vacant gazes casted upon the crowd, devoid of remorse or compassion. These sinners never wanted to be a part of society to begin with. Suddenly I feel a strong hatred towards them. Death is not enough for these creatures. They are beasts that cannot be tamed, but should at least receive some pain before their departure from earth.
An old tree looms over the right side of the scaffold. I rush towards it and break off a branch with a sharp end. Then, I signal the executioner to wait as I begin to pierce the eyes of these wretched men. Their bodies twitch and contort as I take away their eyes. Inside they scream. I hear the muffled sound of justice deep within their guts.

I work my way down the line until I reach the first sinner. His eyes are still protected by the thin layer of cloth, head moving rapidly in all directions. He tries to see what's beyond the red veil. He wonders why we haven't removed it yet.
With my free hand I tear off the blindfold from his face. Two tearful eyes meet mine, eyes full of sorrow and despair, eyes that could only belong to a man who feels nothing but shame for their actions, eyes that belong to a face I once loved dearly, a face that belongs to my own brother.

Reviews

[.]

-- i'm moved to tears... -- i'm reminded of my own brother... but more importantly, i think you created an extremely intricate plot (at the beginning) with plenty of symbolism and metaphors and yet the complexity in the narrative just glided because of the momentum of your words... and concluded with such simplicity and elegance... that i'd say this was an intensely moving piece of writing... that delves into many aspects of society (including the perception of crime and punishment) but ultimately unravels to reveal the beautiful aura of remorse and forgiveness... -- brilliant stuff, monsieur...