‘Burn they who muddy our lands!’ An older woman cried out. ‘Suffer for ye hath wrecked our peace!’ replied a mother, still cradling her newborn. A torch flew through the air, illuminating its way as it hit the stakes; the shouting increased, blurring into one large commotion at the town's square. The flames’ warmth, at first a welcome sense, began to sting lightly; magnifying with the amount of light they emit. The snow falling off these cold unforgiving skies land on my nose and slowly melt as I sniffle.

Heat then rose to my cheeks, forcing my eyelids to shut; the smoke sending me into hazy sleep. 

My lungs fill, my throat aches. 

I raise my head, attempting to steal one final look at my mother her tears dry by the heat before they manage to escape her chin. The look on her face is one of longing, of one seeking help. A look so obvious even the untrained eye could easily notice.

The crowd grew in size and increased in volume, smiled drawn from cheek to cheek. 

Fools; the lot of them! I thought and would have voiced it if I could. 

The fire crawled its way up my body, slowly taking away feeling in my limbs as I force my slitted eyes wide— taking one final look at the raving crowd while biting my tongue in a sad attempt to ignore the pain.

As the feeling in my limbs went away I felt a hard surface connect with my face, probably a rock thrown by the maddened crowd thinking “why isn't she dead yet?!”. 

So this is it. I thought, writhing uncomfortably against the wooden pole charring my bare back.

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This is the end of me, for real this time.

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‘How does it feel?’ She asked, crossing her hands over her knees. ‘How does what feel?’ I replied, my voice coarse from sleepless days. ‘You're two days  away from death. So how does that feel?’ As she spoke I trailed off, losing focus as any tired person does. The interview room was cold; corporate. Almost as if conducting an investigation. The walls were grey, and the lamps were fluorescently and stuck to the ceiling. 

‘Unjust.’ I finally answered, breaking her disapproving stare. It was obvious she was judging me, just like everyone else who did so without even contemplating stepping into my euro-size 42 shoes.

‘Is that what you think the victims; friends and family feel?’

She had long blonde hair, looked a bit over forty and was most certainly full of shit. ‘Sorry, I didn't get the question. Mind repeating it for me?’ She looked annoyed at my words, good. 

‘You've murdered two teenagers in cold blood and you have the gall to say it's unjust??’ She repeated, her voice sterner now, more demanding. 

 ‘Andrej and Sonya had it coming. They killed my mother and went on to win in court against my father who was forced to pay for the damages to their car.’ My voice was trembling, becoming a bit erratic. She hit a soft spot. Not good. Breathe in…123…123…123…breathe out. Repeat. Breathe in…breathe out…repeat. 

‘What I mean to say is,’ I began again ‘Our court and law system afforded them the privilege of running my mother over without consequence because their father happened to be rich and had the judge in his pocket.’ I paused again, letting my words sink in as I give the camera a death stare. 

‘My mother lost her life. They lost a FUCKING headlight. Does that seem just to you?’ her silence spoke for her. She flipped through her notes operatically, looking for my next bone to pick at. That's her job, after all, to be a starving, savage coyote; So I don't hold my grudges against her.

‘I see you have combat experience in . . .’

For my “final meal,” I had a steak and chips imported to me on a special delivery from my favourite restaurant. The taste was just as exquisite as my childhood memories had promised. 

The infusion dripped into my bloodstream, causing me to slowly lose my grip on reality until there was nothing but darkness.

What, no afterlife?

    Disappointing.