Impending Doom

The restoration of the death penalty. I never paid much attention to those words. I wish I had listened in my history class. Maybe I would be able to use something from it now.
Tomorrow, by firing squad, I die.

Sitting in my cell, I try not to imagine how it will be. But I can’t help it. I have always had an overactive imagination in times of stress.
I am standing in front of a brown wall; I try not to think that it might have once been white.
A whistle sounds. A drum rolls. Soldiers march in before me. I try to be brave, to stand strong and not show fear, but that is when I see him. Devon, standing right in front of me, pointing a gun at my chest. His eyes are cold, merciless. I will him to drop the gun and run to me, but if he has not done it yet, why would he now when the end is so near?
“I love you!” I scream, as a magnitude of bullets come rushing toward me, everything slows down as if my senses have suddenly become hyperactive. I see the individual bullets race toward me, I see Devon turn his back to me.
I always stop before it happens. I try to keep Devon out of it, but I can’t.

I saw him when I was brought here. I screamed for him to save me, look at me, acknowledge me. Anything. He just turned and walked away from me, like I was not even there.
To save myself from the pain of thinking about him, I go back to imagining how it will be.

The drumming of the soldier’s feet wakes me as they march down the hall, each of them bang on my door as they pass. Morning. I can tell by the interrupted light seeping under my cell door.
A soldier storms in and yanks me from the floor by my arm. He pulls my arms behind my back and handcuff the together at my wrists. He grabs my elbow and tows me out of my cell and up some stairs. We exit the building by a door that leads to the joyful sun that is shining down on my impeding doom.
My imaginings were wrong. The wall has been scrubbed white. The soldier stops me and positions me near the center of the wall and walks away, leaving me alone for a moment. I steal myself. I will not show fear. I think of the freedom the sky represents, the grave represents, and a calm spreads over me, enveloping me in a refreshing comfort. I smile at the sky, glad I will die beneath such beauty, and not enclosed in a dark cell devoid of life and color.
A whistle sounds. A drum rolls. The soldiers come marching in.
A tear rolls down my face. Devon is in the front row of soldiers. They stop and turn toward me. He hoists his gun to his shoulder, aiming for my heart.
“Ali Sims, you have been charged with attempted assassination, manslaughter, and fraud. The penalty of these crimes is death. May God have mercy on your soul.” The man stepped down from the podium, taking the deceitful paper with him.
I gaze at the soldiers once again. My heart soars. Devon has tears in his eyes. He knows. He cares. I stare straight into his eyes trying to convey my love for him. His gun clatters to the ground, and suddenly I am in his arms.
His face is buried in my hair. “ I love you.” He whimpers. “Please… please forgive me!” He sobs on my shoulder.
I long to comfort him, tell him there is nothing to forgive. But my voice won’t work and my arms hang uselessly behind my back.
“Soldier! Back in ranks! The execution is set.”
Devon puts his arm around my waist then he turns to his sergeant. “ This woman is innocent. She has committed none of these crimes.”
“The court has ruled. Death is inevitable. We shoot in 10 seconds. 10…9….”Devon turns to hold me once again. “I am sorry Ali. I love you, more than life.
I smile sadly up at him. “I love you, Devon.” I fervently whisper in his ear. He lifts my chin and kisses me gently on the lips.
“Two…One…FIRE!”