The Worth of Waiting
One.
The tugging of my chains, the slight ripping of my skin, awoke me from my daze sending me back to reality. Reality; where I was being dragged along with my four partners in war, crime, and soon to be death. I struggled to keep my feet moving forward, inching them, forcing with everything that was left of me. They were sore; my skin was raw and red- strained with blood. I ached everywhere; dazed, confused, lost, yet sharply aware of what was about to happen.
As we descended the stone steps I restrained myself from completely falling over and down upon the seven men in front of me. The edges of my eyes blurred and hot tears brimmed over. We’ve waited, and waited, no one has come for us, and now we wait for our turn of death. The tears sting against my open wombs.
We reach the bottom of the steps, and come to a halt. We wait. My legs are restless and want to run, move, and be free; free of this hell. The two guards at the front are opening the doors. Chains are being pulled away, and the various locks unlock, churching and turning, the doors finally open.
Light unlike any light we’ve seen in months blind us five prisoners. Crying out in agony we try to lift our confined hands to block the brightness away from our faces, only to end up too tried, injured or just awkwardly positioned to bother with it. My eyes sting again.
Heavy breathing and the sound of many men fills my ears. As well as the sounds of a buzzing fly above one of the officer’s head. Obviously annoyed by it, the officer raises his hand and swats around his left ear, hoping to rid of whatever creature that’s buzzing by him. The gesture is so normal; it makes me want to cringe.
After remaining in the cramped corridor for a few more minuets a voice commands us to head through the blinding door. We shuffle on, each of us supporting each other in unbelievable ways. The anticipation is getting unbearable. My heart is beating hard against my chest, pounding me like punches. Somewhere in the deep layers of my brain I can hear the planning for an escape that’ll never happen.
Outside it smells like the rot of humans. The sun is heating us, trying to comfort us for death, or perhaps trying to warm the parts of us that already died. It’s mocking our existence, like the men in uniform leading us here.
Finally my eyes have adjusted, and the tears have dried, mostly. It’s a court yard of the prison they have taken us to. To the right of us is the dreaded Gun Wall, and to the left behind a fence is dividing the middle of the court yard, on the other side of the fence is 384 men awaiting our shots. Five men in sharp red coats, and holding basic hand guns are standing 10 feet away from the Gun Wall, with monotone expressions. Between them and the fence the Prison-keeper, a governor, and a few other official looking men stand there conversing, paying no attention to us or the other men.
The officer behind me gives a shove to my back with the barrel of his gun. Immediately I move forward with the rest of the men in line. Even as I know it’ll soon be over anyways, I can’t help thinking about the pain in my back or the sores on my face, of cuts and scratches upon my arms and legs. It hurts, and I want it to stop but it won’t. -At least not quite yet.
They line us up along the wall, in the order we came, and turn us facing the wall. I’m on the end, next to a young kid, probably about 18 years old. A kid, only a kid: hasn’t been married, just graduated, probably never had sex yet, and he looks like he might just crap himself right now. He’s shaking, and crying. The tears must be draining all the water that’s in him; I’ve never seen so many come out of anyone in my life. Somehow though, between all his sobbing I can hear him praying. Praying to God about forgiveness, and love, and protection, and just some damn peace.
Suddenly, for the exception of the men in row with me, it’s quiet. All, of the other 384 prisoners here are quite, watching, waiting, and bracing themselves for the witness of death of five men who fought along side them.
A loud and deep voice rang through the thick humid air shattering the silence. He stated the date, the prison, the time and place, and who, what, and why of what was about to happen, having all of us, both prisoner and free men remember and relive what happened, and know what was about to occur.
The man with his deep voice then asked us to say our last words and prepare for a count down of 30 seconds, which would set the first shot, then another 10 seconds till the next and so on. It goes alphabetically, for record purposes.
“Thirty”
My legs are still sore, and the point in my back is still slightly aching. I wait, calmly, not saying anything like my companions. The waiting part is hard, and I figure I’ve at least 50 seconds more than the first to be shot, so I try to pray.
In recent years I’ve left God, and found him again. Always angry at him, yet comforted when with him, I never really held a strong faith. But now, lined against a wall in hell, I guess I should. I pray for forgiveness and protection over my family… And somewhere I find I’m praying or perhaps just wishing it’d be over soon enough.
“Thirteen.”
Pause.
“Twelve.”
I breathe.
“Eleven.”
It’s getting unbearable. So I say my last thing to God. “Amen.”
“-Nine.”
I breathe again. I’m starting to shake, almost as bad as the kid next to me. And I’m waiting, and this waiting is hell. I want it to be over. No, not really. I just wish I wasn’t here at all. I wish I was in my wife’s arms in bed, curled under the quilts she made two Christmases ago, and enjoying the Saturday morning.
The heat from the sun is killing my back. It feels as if it’s shooting me.
“Three.”
“Prepare to fire.”
“One.”
A clear define crack in the air filled my ears. So sharp, and so powerful. With a quick second after that a scream issuing from the oldest warrior, Anderson, echoes through the court yard. My legs are urging me to run, but my brain reminds them I’m chained to four other men, one dead, and three alive.
A second shot rings. It’s the same as the first, and with as much warning, but it’s still has the power to give me deep chills despite the horrid heat. Goodman, is now dead, he was just as good as his name says. The next to go, even though the order we’re lined in says otherwise, will be the kid next to me, Marley.
Before the third shot even fires the kid screams. He screams to his mother saying he loves her, and that this is unfair, and then he loses control as the bullet hits him. I wait for him to stop thrashing around, and just die, unlike the other men though, he was skimmed across the neck in a nasty way so no instant death, just pain.
The assigned gunmen seem to take note of this and stop the count down, waiting to see if Marley will die. They take their time watching him, letting the rest of us soak up his pain too. I can’t wait any longer, the pain it unbearable, my heart’s aching, and the heat too strong.
They shoot him again and a bit of bile comes up in my mouth.
The count down resumes itself again. Nicolas is next. He’s on the other side of the now dead Marley, shaking hard. It’s obvious that he hopes for one single shot to the head. At the shout of five, he turns his head and mouths the words, “Bless you.”
A quick crack slows time down, and wide eyed I stare as the small round bullet breaks upon Nicolas skin, through his head. Everything is in lagged motion. A tortured look appears lastly on his face, and Nicolas falls in a heap, triggering a new found speed in time.
Bracing myself, I turn and face the five gunmen, officers, governor, other officials and all 384 men who stare back. Blood pumps hard as rocks against my chest, the shaking stops, and I realize finally what I am in for. Clutching my hands hard, I look at everything before me: the man with the deep voice issuing numbers, the gunman who’s holding a small sharp looking weapon, the hole upon which a bullet will be released, and the last of the hot sun I’ll see.
My eyes close, warm images form gently on my eyelids. Patterns of people come first, then my own memories. I wait. Then suddenly waiting seems too difficult, I just want it to come and take me. Soon enough I’ll be gone and placed somewhere weightless and free.
Lightening strikes in the back of my eyes, I break them open and stare directly at my death. Smiling, I wait.
____
The smell of roses fills his nose. These roses were exactly like the ones his wife grew in the garden every year: wild, untamed, but delightful all the same. As his eyes fluttered open he saw that indeed, they were the same ones. Rolling over he lifted himself off the field he laid in, and scanned the area. Soft, pink roses were surrounding him- some in bushes, some scattered on the ground and others were gently falling from the sky above him.
Twirling around, shocked he looked to find where he was, and how he got there. Hills in one direction, fields to other, and a vast ocean elsewhere. Blinking a couple of times and the rub of his eyes, he finally concluded this must be it.
A sweet voice carried to his ears from behind and with a turn there was his wife. She smiled and opened her arms wide for a hug. Within two steps he snuggled tightly into her arms, crying cries of joy. She brushed his hair and whispered soothingly into his ear, “I was wondering how long I’d have to wait for you, my love.”
He knew then, no matter what pain he had endured on earth, or how long he had waited- that waiting, had finally paid off.
As we descended the stone steps I restrained myself from completely falling over and down upon the seven men in front of me. The edges of my eyes blurred and hot tears brimmed over. We’ve waited, and waited, no one has come for us, and now we wait for our turn of death. The tears sting against my open wombs.
We reach the bottom of the steps, and come to a halt. We wait. My legs are restless and want to run, move, and be free; free of this hell. The two guards at the front are opening the doors. Chains are being pulled away, and the various locks unlock, churching and turning, the doors finally open.
Light unlike any light we’ve seen in months blind us five prisoners. Crying out in agony we try to lift our confined hands to block the brightness away from our faces, only to end up too tried, injured or just awkwardly positioned to bother with it. My eyes sting again.
Heavy breathing and the sound of many men fills my ears. As well as the sounds of a buzzing fly above one of the officer’s head. Obviously annoyed by it, the officer raises his hand and swats around his left ear, hoping to rid of whatever creature that’s buzzing by him. The gesture is so normal; it makes me want to cringe.
After remaining in the cramped corridor for a few more minuets a voice commands us to head through the blinding door. We shuffle on, each of us supporting each other in unbelievable ways. The anticipation is getting unbearable. My heart is beating hard against my chest, pounding me like punches. Somewhere in the deep layers of my brain I can hear the planning for an escape that’ll never happen.
Outside it smells like the rot of humans. The sun is heating us, trying to comfort us for death, or perhaps trying to warm the parts of us that already died. It’s mocking our existence, like the men in uniform leading us here.
Finally my eyes have adjusted, and the tears have dried, mostly. It’s a court yard of the prison they have taken us to. To the right of us is the dreaded Gun Wall, and to the left behind a fence is dividing the middle of the court yard, on the other side of the fence is 384 men awaiting our shots. Five men in sharp red coats, and holding basic hand guns are standing 10 feet away from the Gun Wall, with monotone expressions. Between them and the fence the Prison-keeper, a governor, and a few other official looking men stand there conversing, paying no attention to us or the other men.
The officer behind me gives a shove to my back with the barrel of his gun. Immediately I move forward with the rest of the men in line. Even as I know it’ll soon be over anyways, I can’t help thinking about the pain in my back or the sores on my face, of cuts and scratches upon my arms and legs. It hurts, and I want it to stop but it won’t. -At least not quite yet.
They line us up along the wall, in the order we came, and turn us facing the wall. I’m on the end, next to a young kid, probably about 18 years old. A kid, only a kid: hasn’t been married, just graduated, probably never had sex yet, and he looks like he might just crap himself right now. He’s shaking, and crying. The tears must be draining all the water that’s in him; I’ve never seen so many come out of anyone in my life. Somehow though, between all his sobbing I can hear him praying. Praying to God about forgiveness, and love, and protection, and just some damn peace.
Suddenly, for the exception of the men in row with me, it’s quiet. All, of the other 384 prisoners here are quite, watching, waiting, and bracing themselves for the witness of death of five men who fought along side them.
A loud and deep voice rang through the thick humid air shattering the silence. He stated the date, the prison, the time and place, and who, what, and why of what was about to happen, having all of us, both prisoner and free men remember and relive what happened, and know what was about to occur.
The man with his deep voice then asked us to say our last words and prepare for a count down of 30 seconds, which would set the first shot, then another 10 seconds till the next and so on. It goes alphabetically, for record purposes.
“Thirty”
My legs are still sore, and the point in my back is still slightly aching. I wait, calmly, not saying anything like my companions. The waiting part is hard, and I figure I’ve at least 50 seconds more than the first to be shot, so I try to pray.
In recent years I’ve left God, and found him again. Always angry at him, yet comforted when with him, I never really held a strong faith. But now, lined against a wall in hell, I guess I should. I pray for forgiveness and protection over my family… And somewhere I find I’m praying or perhaps just wishing it’d be over soon enough.
“Thirteen.”
Pause.
“Twelve.”
I breathe.
“Eleven.”
It’s getting unbearable. So I say my last thing to God. “Amen.”
“-Nine.”
I breathe again. I’m starting to shake, almost as bad as the kid next to me. And I’m waiting, and this waiting is hell. I want it to be over. No, not really. I just wish I wasn’t here at all. I wish I was in my wife’s arms in bed, curled under the quilts she made two Christmases ago, and enjoying the Saturday morning.
The heat from the sun is killing my back. It feels as if it’s shooting me.
“Three.”
“Prepare to fire.”
“One.”
A clear define crack in the air filled my ears. So sharp, and so powerful. With a quick second after that a scream issuing from the oldest warrior, Anderson, echoes through the court yard. My legs are urging me to run, but my brain reminds them I’m chained to four other men, one dead, and three alive.
A second shot rings. It’s the same as the first, and with as much warning, but it’s still has the power to give me deep chills despite the horrid heat. Goodman, is now dead, he was just as good as his name says. The next to go, even though the order we’re lined in says otherwise, will be the kid next to me, Marley.
Before the third shot even fires the kid screams. He screams to his mother saying he loves her, and that this is unfair, and then he loses control as the bullet hits him. I wait for him to stop thrashing around, and just die, unlike the other men though, he was skimmed across the neck in a nasty way so no instant death, just pain.
The assigned gunmen seem to take note of this and stop the count down, waiting to see if Marley will die. They take their time watching him, letting the rest of us soak up his pain too. I can’t wait any longer, the pain it unbearable, my heart’s aching, and the heat too strong.
They shoot him again and a bit of bile comes up in my mouth.
The count down resumes itself again. Nicolas is next. He’s on the other side of the now dead Marley, shaking hard. It’s obvious that he hopes for one single shot to the head. At the shout of five, he turns his head and mouths the words, “Bless you.”
A quick crack slows time down, and wide eyed I stare as the small round bullet breaks upon Nicolas skin, through his head. Everything is in lagged motion. A tortured look appears lastly on his face, and Nicolas falls in a heap, triggering a new found speed in time.
Bracing myself, I turn and face the five gunmen, officers, governor, other officials and all 384 men who stare back. Blood pumps hard as rocks against my chest, the shaking stops, and I realize finally what I am in for. Clutching my hands hard, I look at everything before me: the man with the deep voice issuing numbers, the gunman who’s holding a small sharp looking weapon, the hole upon which a bullet will be released, and the last of the hot sun I’ll see.
My eyes close, warm images form gently on my eyelids. Patterns of people come first, then my own memories. I wait. Then suddenly waiting seems too difficult, I just want it to come and take me. Soon enough I’ll be gone and placed somewhere weightless and free.
Lightening strikes in the back of my eyes, I break them open and stare directly at my death. Smiling, I wait.
____
The smell of roses fills his nose. These roses were exactly like the ones his wife grew in the garden every year: wild, untamed, but delightful all the same. As his eyes fluttered open he saw that indeed, they were the same ones. Rolling over he lifted himself off the field he laid in, and scanned the area. Soft, pink roses were surrounding him- some in bushes, some scattered on the ground and others were gently falling from the sky above him.
Twirling around, shocked he looked to find where he was, and how he got there. Hills in one direction, fields to other, and a vast ocean elsewhere. Blinking a couple of times and the rub of his eyes, he finally concluded this must be it.
A sweet voice carried to his ears from behind and with a turn there was his wife. She smiled and opened her arms wide for a hug. Within two steps he snuggled tightly into her arms, crying cries of joy. She brushed his hair and whispered soothingly into his ear, “I was wondering how long I’d have to wait for you, my love.”
He knew then, no matter what pain he had endured on earth, or how long he had waited- that waiting, had finally paid off.
♠ ♠ ♠
Wrote half of it a couple weeks ago, and finished yesterday.