The Lethal Injection

It had been years since he had been convicted in a trial for deadly crimes he did not commit.

Days ago, he was chained and walked to the administration office, where men with grave appearances enjoyed the drama of reading him the letter he had feared for years. The date had been set, the last few privileges announced. The unsolicited question raised- what would he want to be done to his body. 'Send it to my wife', he had half muttered with a cold blatancy in tone and collapsing knees, only to be returned and shoved inside his cell. There is an undisturbed privilege in the States that allows the prisoner to choose his method of execution out of some three techniques of killing. Such choices exist. It was time he had made his.

Sitting across each other, a glass wall separated them. They held a red receiver to their ears, and words had become fatally significant now. However he tried, the apprehension barred him from comprehending what she said. This is the granted time the inmates can spend in their final 24 hours with members of their families. That was it; he put the receiver down, letting go from where they held hands invisibly from both sides. And before they would break down, they neared the only glass dividing them and kissed, leaving impressions behind to fade away. Perhaps, this was the last time he saw her. Possibly, the last time he heard her speak.

The feeling is unbearably unheard of. Death comes easier when it has to. Death's lethal when you know your time. There's a natural climb in pulse, you realize that you've lost weight. On the last night, sleep was impossible. Little thought was given to the matter. In the darkness of enclosure, hours before he was scheduled, he tried recalling her words. He could not remember. Then the torturous fact hit him- he would never know. For the infinite time, he worthlessly imagined how destiny had unfolded, how he had come there in a small room that awaited his end. Then he recalled her expressions- when the sentence was announced in the court, when the date had been set and when she was told that a minute remained to talk. Everything summed up to horror. The dread of unfairness, the alarm about him being left to rot, and she would watch him die vulnerably. Hours later, the traces of his existence would be stuck beneath the stacks of closed files and in an undying memory in someone he loved. He had claimed innocence for years. The time wouldn't slow and he wanted to bang his head. He paced for the light of the day would never come. He paced because he had nothing to do with crime, and yet he was a criminal sentenced to capital punishment. In the serenity of a ghostly quietness, his heart pounded.

There is a bang on the door, asking him to come out. He's got a way to walk, the final walk. Removing hands from the face, he stands up audaciously enough for man facing death. Perhaps, he is choosing to dictate death in small ways he can. Chained again, the world seems to blur in a whirlwind. Secured by two guards from both sides, he is civilly ordered to follow the warden. Despite the palpitations, he is picturing his lifetime flashing by. And the steps begin. Predictably, none of them look him in the eye. And for those who lead him, it will be the longest walk of their lives.

There is an axiom among the inmates- "He got the needle". It refers to someone executed using the lethal injection. In a corner of these detention centers is a room. Irrespective of its rare use, it is perhaps the most feared place for the inhabitants of the house. And when it's used, there is mayhem among them. There is a chair, like the one you see at the dentist's in the middle of dull white walls. Attached to the chair are belts on every corner. These walls are, in fact, one-sided mirrors, hiding rooms behind them. One room is for the victim and his family to witness the execution. Another is for the prison staff to effectively deliver the drugs. The third room is for the family members or relatives of the inmate. As the drugs are ready to be delivered, the shutters of these mirrors are released.

As he walks, he imagines the plight of his wife who would helplessly watch him die for something he did not do. He enters the room and looks around in the utter trauma of circumstances. Yet, he hopes for good over the prevailing inhumanity. Somehow, he hopes, it would stop. He is asked to sit in the chair. The belts are fastened to every limb. He looks around as if to ask, are you really killing me? Then, he is left for ten minutes to himself. He is in a dilemma of unbelievable reality. A nurse, along with the warden and an officer enter later. He is told that he is permitted two minutes by the State for last words if any. At this moment, the shutters are opened. Though he cannot see her, she can see him from a close distance, and he knows this in all certainty. Behind, she is trembling to death herself. So he begins.

"I have no clue how we landed here. For everything that has happened, I want to apologize and thank you. I am sorry that I had to put you through this. I am grateful because you did everything. While I am sure to go today, the undying love won't."

He feels terrified, weak and helpless. Then, the warden removes his hat.

The fluids begin to flow. He is to be given three injections. The nurse pierces a needle connected to a long pipe slithering out of the wall. He quivers as he looks. And the fluids gush in. He feels it coming. The first one is a sedative. He begins to lose consciousness. Soul's resistance is slowly crushed by chemicals.

His wife shrieks. She shudders and covers her face to escape the terror.

The second fluid paralyzes his body. Somewhere in him, he is still aware. He feels the most excruciating pain he has ever felt. And the human being loses all control of his body. Yet, in a corner of his mind, he's calling for her, trapped inside him, with truths only he knows.

The third injection slowly begins to penetrate. It is meant to stop his heart. Then it's but a matter of a few seconds. The body jerks. The shutters fall.