11.59

Inspired by the poem Invictus

I rose out of the night that covered me for so long in that dark cell. With my strong hands tied behind my back, guards’ curses in my ear and their spit on my face, I walk with pride down the hall.  My head’s held high as the other prisoners whoop and jeer, “Someone won’t be around for dinner!” They grow bashful when I stare at them unfazed at what they said or what’s to come.

One of the guards yells and we stop for another prisoner who is to join me on my walk. He shakes and falls to his knees when his cell door is opened.

“Please! I didn’t do it! I swear!” he squeals.

They grab him and pull him out. The other prisoners jeer, and tears leave clean lines as they run down his dirty face. There are no clean lines on my face. It is dirty, scratched and beaten but I love it because it’s mine.

We walk on, step by step, then stop. The same guard yells again. Another cell door is opened, another prisoner. This one curses the guards, their families and everything they hold dear. He swears he’d do it all again but we can all see nothing but regret in his eyes.

We reach the door and another yell from the guard causes it to be opened from the other side. The light pours in from outside. Everyone, guards and prisoners, all wince from the brightness but I stare. Knowing not even the sun is stronger than me. We’re led out into the green circular courtyard. There is a 30 foot wall all around covered with guards waiting to see the show. They’re all armed so there is no escape.

The grass springs up when it’s pushed down, unlike other things that fall here. The firing squad stands waiting at the near wall as we are led to the three posts at the far side. I’m told to stand as the guard ties the other two to their poles. One still full of tears, the other still cursing but with tears now as well. An unordered shot is fired into the curser, which makes the other cry even more but they still find me unafraid.

Just as they are about to tie me to my pole I slip out my hidden blade and cut they ropes that dared to bind my hands. I grab the guard’s gun, push him away and aim. About a hundred guards raise their guns. They wanted to execute me at noon. But I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul. The courtyard clock reads 11:59. I fire.

Reviews

[Marie]

Excellent work. I like how you interspersed this with the poem.
In the first sentence of the last paragraph, I htink you mean "the" ropes, not "they" ropes.