A hush falls over the crowd of the plaza. We stand in the tropical heat of late summer, as ordered, watching the men and women in their blindfolds. Lined up against the wall they stand, seven of them, opposite an equal number of soldiers. “For the crime of treason, there can be but one sentence,” shouted Lieutenant Salamanca. “Death. Before you stand the August Revolutionaries. This is the fate of those that oppose the government, of those who oppose President Ruiz!” The crowd is silent.

I glance quickly at Ruiz, not standing three feet from me. Suddenly he turns to me, and I freeze. “I want that updated list of dissidents on my desk first thing tomorrow,” he says. “Have four bottles of champagne and a box of cigars to my residence.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” I reply, nodding nervously. I uncap my fountain pen and scribble a reminder in my small notebook.

Salamanca drones on about duty to the state and to its leader. My thoughts turn to Magdalena, standing blindfolded against the wall. I should have not let her go, I should have kept her from participating in the coup. There was never a great chance for success but with a will as strong as hers, could anyone have stopped her? There were still so many things I had wanted to tell her, many things I had left unsaid.

“...and so for their crimes, in the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and eight,” continues Salamanca, “they pay with their lives.” He clears his throat. “Prepare...arms!” The sound of seven soldiers flicking the safeties of their Mausers to fire. My pulse quickens. I need to do something. What could even be done? I look down at the fountain pen in my hand. It was sharp, no doubt of that. Looking back up, my gaze fixed on the Ruiz’s neck.

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“Take...aim!” It would be so easy, stabbing my pen into the president’s neck. If I moved quickly, no one could stop me. There would be only one chance. Could he survive though? What if lived? I would find myself standing against the same wall with a blindfold. If I did kill him, I would be captured on the spot, regardless. Who would replace Ruiz, the champion of the people we wanted or another officer from the Army...a corrupt man cut from the same camouflaged cloth as he?

I close my eyes. “Fire!” The report of rifles sounded through the plaza, followed closely by the sound of bodies dropping. It was over. I bite my lip, choking back tears. Around me I see the austere faces of the crowd. Rather than elation that I’m sure Ruiz felt, the people were dissatisfied, not with the execution but with the government. I could feel those who before sat on the sidelines were now kindling anger in their hearts, having watched loved ones be lined up and shot in the street.

Hope took hold of me. Hope that one day soon, the revolution will succeed. Our mission now will be to survive, remain hidden, and prepare for the opportune moment. We will continue to be hunted, but we will unite. As my father said, brutality breeds brutality. Ruiz’s day will come. I will look on and smile when the day comes where he is blindfolded and made to stand against the bullet riddled wall in the plaza. Someday soon.