A heavy silence hangs over their heads. The only sound is their footsteps on the solid floor which create a rhythm to precede their advance.
Not a word is spoken as they travel down the corridor towards their destination. The monotonous pattern only being disrupted by the occasional clink of metal handcuffs.
The air is solemn, filled with a suffocating aura of seriousness. All four of the guards act in accordance with the somber mood.
Keeping their eyes level and straight, the guards neither look at each other nor the inmate they are here to restrain.
Their job is near completion, yet they feel as though they have not done much. As in truth, there was not a lot for them to do.
Not once had the inmate tried resisting. Not once did he respond to their actions. He acted like a husk of a man.
The guards inferred this behavior as acceptance for the fate that awaits him.
The blank expression on his face and the empty look in his eyes gave them everything they needed to come to the conclusion that he was already a dead man.
For he truly was someone that was destined to die. It was scheduled on this very day.
If they knew what was going through the inmate’s mind, they would know that their conclusion was wrong. But no one ever knew what he was thinking. Not back then and most definitely not now.
The guards had seen the inmate’s records, read about his past and they had seen his scar riddled body during their prior search. But there were still many pieces the guards were missing about his story.
They believed they understood him. They thought they knew him. Yet, they could not be farther away from understanding him.
No one in his life ever could. There were many that believed they understood, but none of them truly did. Without experiencing it firsthand, there was only so much they could comprehend.
From further down the hall, vague sounds can be heard. Crying, shouting and all kinds of voices. They are getting louder and more coherent with every step the group takes. As their destination is also the origin of all the noise.
Their walk that was only supposed to be a few short minutes feels like many grueling hours. But who can blame them for feeling this way?
The solemn and suffocating atmosphere that comes from working a job so closely entwined with death has left a deep impression on them.
It is part of their job to restrain and bring inmates to their execution. All four of the guards have played a role in bringing about the death of dozens of people.
They have just as much of a hand in the executions as the ones that inject the chemicals to kill.
This also applies to the death row inmate they are currently leading. Which is the main reason for their serious and dour moods.
Even after years of working within this penitentiary and bringing a dozen death row inmates to their executions, it still affects them.
Despite the inmates being sentenced to death by a judge or jury, the guards cannot help but feel responsible as they were some of the last people to interact with those inmates before their deaths.
The current moment is also the same. Leading a death row inmate to the room of their execution is just as unsettling as it was the very first time they had done so.
However with this inmate, the responsibility the guards feel is lessened. Maybe because he was compliant and did not prolong the time the guards spent handling him.
Maybe it was because he is already acting like a dead man, remaining silent and not responding to any stimulus.
For whatever reason, the guards prefer it this way, it prevents them from forming a human connection with this inmate. It prevents them from seeing him as a person, an individual like themselves.
Those inmates in the past that had fought hard and resisted, cried desperately and broke down. Those were the hardest ones to deal with.
Seeing their displays of emotions caused the guards pain, knowing that the man or woman they were dragging to their death was a human with the same capabilities as themselves.
It was painful, they often had to choke back tears and steel their hearts to continue their jobs.
The guards had seen many of their peers and coworkers leave because of this. Those with fainter hearts had long ago left, leaving behind themselves and others with a strong mind and emotionless heart. Or at least a facade of one.
Even amongst the guards currently leading the inmate, there is still one that will often find himself crying while looking at himself in the mirror.
Unable to accept the fact that he is able to heartlessly drag inmates to the execution table and strap them to it amidst their struggles.
But the inmate they are currently leading causes them no distress. Amongst the four of them, not a single one felt a flicker of sensitive emotions.
It was a great change from just last month where they had to desperately fight back tears as they strapped the elderly man to the table.
The things he had told them during the time the guards spent handling him had stuck within their hearts. His words about them needing to enjoy the things in life that he never could.
His deep regrets toward the things he had done decades prior. The way he had thanked them for retaining his dignity even in his last moments.
It had put immense strain on them all. They were strangers to him, yet they could not help but think of their own grandfathers when looking at him.
It was the worst feeling. Knowing that he was going to be put to death soon and their hands would play a major role in it.
Again, the current inmate was different. He was so unresponsive, so emotionless, it was like he was not even a human.
He was more like a robot or even an animal. There are those that would cry at their phone being smashed and many more when their pet is euthanized or killed.
However, when it is not your phone and not your pet, the emotional distress is far less than it would be if they were yours.
It was like that for the guards. The current inmate allowed them to stay detached and look forwards beyond him while fulfilling their duty.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Not putting much thought or emotion into their actions, just doing their job while watching this inmate as bystanders.
He was just another member of death row to them and they were just nameless guards that he would hopefully not remember.
After a prolonged walk that was only a short distance, the group of five arrives at their destination, where the noises are loudest.
With various thoughts going through their minds, the guards finally look to their inmate and move closer around him. Doing their best to deny the small crowd any chance at illicit actions.
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Observing the guards move closer, he makes no outward reaction. Even upon hearing the boisterous room quieten at his entry, he does not react.
Hearing the noise pick up again, but this time aimed at himself, he still does nothing. Even hearing such insults as: “Killer!” “Murderer!” “Inhuman cripple!” He no more than blinks.
One spiteful woman even yells out, “Is this all you are capable of? Knowing you are the cause of so much disaster and death time and time again? Even for being au..”
But she is quickly silenced by those near her before she can finish her venomous insults.
He is vaguely aware of who all these people are. They, in some way or another, made up some kind of excuse to get here.
Claiming to be victims or those related to them. But seeing all the various faces, young, old, male and female. Only one question sits in his mind.
Why do they care so much? Why do they put in so much effort? He is just going to be killed, so why the need for so much drama?
He knows death. Death is uneventful, boring even. Death is an end with nothing after. He has seen it, made others experience it.
There is no long or short death. There is only pain and suffering prior to death. Death happens in only one instance, there is only one moment of death.
So why are all these people here to see his instance of death? He cannot comprehend them.
He couldn’t understand anyone really. Everyone was always preoccupied. They were always in a rush. Going here, or over there. Doing this or doing that.
But himself? He never was like that. He did what he wanted in those moments. He did what was available to himself at the time.
As often, there are rules, even in the most lawless places, there are still rules everyone follows.
But he knows that people only follow the rules when others are watching and when it's convenient.
He knows that everyone is truly like himself, they break the rules. The difference being they do it when no one is around to catch them.
He himself never did that. Which is why he is here now, being strapped to this table with his arms spread out to either side.
He knows exactly why he is here. It is because he was caught. He was finally caught years after he left that place. Then, they put him right back in another locked room, in a cell.
He was caught because he allowed it. He wanted to get caught as continuing would have been too difficult. He was in a hopeless situation back then.
Now, they are bringing in a large rack of many colorful tubes. Those green, yellow and red labeled tubes, they are just a facade for death.
They could kill him in many other ways, ones that are not so difficult.
He could even kill himself. He had many opportunities to kill himself in the past few years. It was something like biting off your tongue and choking. He had seen it before.
If he had done that in the past, he would not have had to go through everything he did. All those court proceedings and other things.
But if he did that, he might miss an opportunity to escape his confinement. Like what happened before.
But even after all this time, there was never an opportunity. Maybe it was a mistake to be captured and another mistake to remain alive.
Death would have come much sooner that way. Doesn't really matter though, every choice he could have made all would have led to his inevitable death.
He was someone that was always going to die one day and not from natural causes. That was just the way it was and he accepted that.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees the faces staring at him through the window of the small room. All of them watching as he does nothing but lay strapped to the table.
The question in his mind still remains, why are they here? He could never comprehend them and their interests.
The team of guards that strapped him on the table have long ago left. Replaced by another team of medical experts or doctors.
In either case, he could not tell them apart and would not care to differentiate.
He lies there, staring at white ceiling tiles and blinding fluorescent lights. His entire body is firmly strapped down and restrained.
Even if he wants to fight back against the medical team inserting the needle into his left arm, he could not.
But he does not fight. Feeling the slight stinging sensation when the needle pierces his skin and into his vein, he makes no reaction.
His mind on the many cameras he can see on the ceiling and walls of the room.
Feeling the second sting from his right arm, his mind strays away from the cameras and onto the rack of tubes that are now connected to his body.
One of the medical experts stands near the rack of tubes, seemingly verifying everything is properly set.
Looking through the window and signaling to other staff outside, the medical expert indicates everything is ready.
Only a few seconds later a voice resounds on the speakers within the room and to the audience observing through the window. “Inject the first dose of Midazolam.”
The medical staff talk amongst themselves as the lead expert turns a valve, allowing the liquid to begin its journey out of the syringe, into the transparent tubing and then down to his veins.
He feels the cool numbing sensation of a foreign liquid entering his arm through the needle. Only now does the realization set in that he is in his final moments.
The first thought he has is: It's finally here. The moment of his death, having been just one step away for most of his life, is finally here.
He feels curiosity, wondering how his instance of death will feel. As he has seen death, but never experienced his own, until now.
His second thought is one of the past. He had written something during his time in the asylum.
They had called it a poem, but he was just an uneducated kid, not knowing what that was. With help from an attorney and a kind nurse, they helped him perfect it. It went like this:
In darkness I made my descent.
The abyss of loathsome despair as my destination.
Cloaked in hate and misery; further I fell from the light of glory.
Towards an era of shame, full of self pity.
This was the first time he has thought about this poem since he had written it. The attorney and other law people had used it as evidence in some case or another, something he was never fully aware of.
But even then, he thought nothing of this poem, as it was drastically changed from the mess of newly learnt words he had initially written on a napkin.
But now, as he feels his head growing heavy and a drowsy sensation overtake him. He cannot help but feel the poem is lacking a complete ending.
So with his last remaining thoughts, he pieces together a few more lines.
Life destined for Darkness,
A hollow existence meeting its end.
In death, ascending towards the light,
Entering a world, filled with.. new … Hope…..?
His mind is too cloudy to think of properly fitting words to end the last line. He is left with only one word: Hope. That is what he currently feels.
Hope that death may be better than his life. A hope for whatever occurs after his death is better than what he has experienced in life.
A baseless hope, as he always believed that death was a true end with nothing after.
With a vague sensation that he is drowning, he closes his eyes forever, falling unconscious with his last sight being the blurry white ceiling and bright lights shining down upon him.
Now he is truly ascending to meet them.