Erase Me

XVI

I am chained to a wagon strewn with straw. Perhaps I will die the same way Idris will. They will hang me, my neck will break, and it will be a quick death.

The gallows come into view. They stand above the stage. A crowd is gathered before it, itching to watch the show. I see the gallery where senators sit in comfort at a safe distance but they can still see the show. They chuckle with each other as servants give them fine wines and rich delicacies. Normally, I would be sickened by this but what I see next dismays me to my very bones:

Idris’s corpse swinging in the wind, his dark eyes bulging, his neck broken.

I nearly faint. Chills echo down my spine and I finally process that this is real and this is death and Idris is dead.

The wagon arrives at the gallows and they pull me up onto the stage. I don’t dare look at the lifeless corpse of Idris Keen but I see the blood that drips onto the wooden floor of the stage from his neck as the rope slices into his skin.

The executioner’s apprentice guides me backwards and he places the noose around my neck, making sure it’s tight. The executioner yanks on the pulley and it hoists me up high into the air so all of the onlookers can gaze at me in awe of my suffering. Black dots dance across my vision and I feel my eyes turning inside out. The life is bleeding out of me like I was an orange being squeezed for my juices. Then the executioner releases the rope and I crash onto the ground, trying to force out a sob of pain instead of the horrific sounds of my choking.

They pick me up and toss me onto a table like I am a rag doll. They tie me down to it. I am still trying to regain full consciousness. I see the judge and the executioner standing over me. The executioner is holding a wooden stake, blunt and used.

It is the judge who speaks. “About a century ago, people would have said that music comes from the heart.” The executioner drives the stake deep into my chest but he is careful not to puncture my heart so that I do not die.

I scream in sheer pain. Tears scald my cheeks and I try to jerk myself upright but then I remember that I am tied down.

The executioner pulls out a dagger and shows it to me. It blocks the sunlight and shows up black before me. The judge continues: “It takes guts to do what you did.” The executioner follows the cue and draws the dagger across my stomach.

That’s when I hear it. “Mercy!” The crowd begins to shout it but then I listen closer and I realize they are not shouting . . . they are chanting and singing. They sing their plea for my life. The crowd begins stamping the ground with their feet, creating a beat for them to follow. I feel this beat through the table. It does not diminish the excruciating pain but it makes it worth it.

The executioner wipes my blood off the dagger with his shirt. The judge speaks again. “I heard your voice. You have such a beautiful, strong voice. It has impressed a lot of people. I am sure you are happy you got to share your gift the world.”

He rubs the back of his hand against my neck, which is where my voice erupts. I am tempted to spit in his face but the song of mercy has put me to peace despite his cruel words.

“It is a shame your talent must be wasted.” He takes the dagger from the executioner. “Do you have any last words?”

My voice rings out louder and stronger than I thought it would. “I’d rather commit treason against an unjust government than suffer the regret of committing it against myself.”

He slits my throat.

I always thought I would die singing; but instead I die with something so much better: I die hearing the world sing.