Stories from various walks of life

[lamchopz]

Here's one of them (I got this sudden surge of inspiration. Hence, this short passage). It's a 30 minutes of writing thing. Don't be too harsh when you pass your judgment (if anyone's reading this, that is). lol

------------------
Scenario: a prisoner on death row is waiting to be executed.
-----------------
Staring at the steel door, he begins to feel its icy touch. It’s always been a cold day followed by a freezing night. He has long desired a warm air, of compassion, of humanity, of the intimacy that every darn soul in this world was given. He hadn’t been as fortunate. So the dream died with his last vestige of human emotions. No regret. No longer. No more.

He can still vividly recall that evening, in the empty alley where the crimson hands of his held up the wallet of a stranger who was already lying lifeless on the ground. The knife glowed under the dim streetlights. As the howling wind grew louder, his laughter climbed a pitch higher. Slowly, he raised the blade just above his lips and with his tongue, caught the droplet gravitating towards the ground. The taste of innocence. Sweet. Delightful. He saw it coming. He had planned its coming. It was time that he abandoned the world that had abandoned him. The body under his feet was just the beginning of his justice. A plan of vengeance. To which he was faithful to the end.

Tears are now streaming down his cheeks. He is thinking about that officer. Why didn’t she resist? Why didn’t she pull the trigger? And why, above all, didn’t she call him a demon? For three months, their every eye contact always graduated to a chase. Yet, they managed to talk, briefly, but not one single time did she bombard him with the insults that he was all too familiar with. His hands are trembling, then his whole body seems to lose its whole balance. “I saw good in your eyes”, she said. And he shot her. His knees then crumbled when he realised what he had done. Blinded by guilt, he crawled to her struggling remains. She was breathing heavily. As beautiful as ever, both her mind and face, she smiled at him. Weakly, she brought her right hand up to wipe the tears off his right eye. Even now, he can still hear her last breath: “I don’t hate you”.

He rises. Drawing a long breath, he steps towards the door, through the darkness to which his room has been bound. His time has come. He is ready for it. Placing the barren hand on the knob, he pulls the door slightly. A crack of light emerges. The fresh air of redemption. The warm air of compassion. Rushing towards him as he brings the memory of the kindness he foolishly destroyed.

The door swings open wide.

He sees darkness no more.