My Penalty

I am a murderer. I am a traitor to my friends. I am a dead man. I’m staring death straight in the face. The noose taunted me; laughed at me; stared right at me and said, “This is your penalty.”

I wasn’t sure when things had gone wrong. I had a loving family; was raised in a catholic home; worked to keep peace. But here I was, standing on the scaffold, in front of hundreds, waiting for the man in the hood to put the noose around my neck and pull the lever leading to my death.

Maybe I was living a dream for all those years, not looking at the big picture in front of me. People hated humans like me: murderers, traitors, liars, thieves.

“Thilex Mortimer,” the judge said from his high standing post, “you have been charged with treason, murder, and thievery. What’s say you to this?”

I couldn’t open my mouth and give the words I had been wanting to say: It wasn’t me, I didn’t do anything wrong. But there was that small part of my heart and mind that said, “You’re to blame. You did this. You killed her. You deserve to die.”

I felt a small tear run down my cheek. My sister, Celia, was dead because of me. I should have never let her come with us. There was only supposed to be one death that day. I just never expected she would be the cold, lifeless, and inert body in my arms that day. Nor did I know that I was the one that caused it.

“Thilex Mortimer!” the judge said once again. I finally looked up from my feet and stared the judge in the eyes. “Your answer?”

My mouth still remained closed. No matter what I said I knew the judge wouldn’t believe me. Hell, I didn’t believe myself. How can someone with no confidence in their own words expect to change the words of another? This was my fate. I had to live with it, die with it.

I heard the judge sigh. “Thilex Mortimer, I hereby announce you: guilty as charged. Your sentence will be death by hanging... May your soul find peace.” The judge then banged his gavel against the desk and sat back in his chair, along with the rest of them.

The drums began, beating in my ear as I heard the light squeaks of the floorboards as the grim reaper approached the lever that was to lead me to my demise.

I decided to look up once more, getting one last glimpse of the world I was about to leave. I stared into the faces of the people who had to come to watch my death. Some looked horrified, others looked glad that I would be out of their lives. I couldn’t understand what made them happy to see my life end. Maybe I had done something to them in the past that I couldn’t remember now. Or maybe I had done nothing at all, just stood by and watched as they suffered and I didn’t.

As I took my final breath, my sister’s face came back to mind. Another tear streamed down my face as I remembered her smiling face, covered in her own blood, as she gently graced my face with her hand and said, “This wasn’t your fault.” I just wished that I could have believed her.

“I’m sorry, Celia,” I cried in a low voice. “I never meant to hurt you... I’m so sorry, dear sister.”

As if the spring breeze was gracing me, I felt a sudden warmth of a hand on my shoulder and a gentle kiss placed on my forehead. It was familiar, very familiar. The soft touch reminded me of my dear sister’s gentle hands and lips.

“I know...” a small voice whispered. “I never blamed you...”  Then, as fast as it came, the warmth had left me, leaving my cold and alone.

I closed my eyes, a light and bitter, smile crossing over my lips as I heard the lever get pulled and the floor beneath my feet withdraw. My body fell, with the noose tightening around my throat, and as if like a flash of lightning, I saw darkness. No sound. No picture. No pain.