Execution of the Traitor

I dreamt the life I would have would be much longer, much harder, and endless workdays.

I thought I would continue what I was doing. I thought I could lead them even more and more. I wanted to, as the son of the military, as I was raised. I wanted to see the way of justice. I wanted to stand with it. I wanted to establish it. I wanted to be the light bearer for those who asked for it, and I definitely didn't want to be the one asking for it instead.

Today, as I hear them, hear them chant my death, today, I realize that justice is frail. It is upheld by flawed people. It is controlled by flawed people. And when those people decide justice, it becomes something that is not justice at all. It is not light. It is not the way.

Today, as the cloth over my head is tightened, as the rope over my head is put, as the chant continues in unison, and as the words of condemnation continue before my fated demise, I know for sure I was a fool. I lived by foolish virtues and beliefs. Justice? What was that even? Just a convenient word for the people in power to rule over the inferior ones. Sadly, I turned out to be one of those inferior ones, only realizing justice, what it truly is, at the end of my life.

Right now, my world is dark, even when I open my eyes. There is this bag over my head. I cannot see. But I can surely hear. They're letting me hear. They've tied my hands. They have yet to pull the lever and finish my story right here as they hang me. They leave me to die.

How many times I myself oversaw this same procession of someone and stood by with my duty—with my sword on the sheath and my hand over it, looking at people? How many times did I feel sad, did I stay silent. Was there sadness in my eyes? Yes—almost every time. If they were heinous people, my brows would knit closer in disgust, yet I would never chant death like these people were chanting for me. Surely even in those days, these people still chanted for death, for the one to be hanged. But do these people know that they are the inferior ones, and they will be hanged one by one in this system, in this country, in this governance? They are the foolish masses. They are the sheep that are being kept in line by the wolves. Do they know that they're nothing but toys, but shame and disgrace on whatever they think they are?

I feel the rope tightening. I feel the man behind me, despite the chaos and shouting and noise. I feel him, his hands, one of which is on the lever. I feel that he is looking for the signal to hang me to my death. Oddly enough, I'm not afraid. You are afraid when there's possibilities. In my case, there is only one, and that is my death, inevitable; with my hands tied, with which I earned everything in this life. I cannot earn anything more, not even a new possibility. So why should there be fear? Why should there be confusion, nervousness, or doubt? Yes, I will be hanged. Yes, my neck will hang. Yes, I will thrash around like a fish before dying. Yes, my body will try its hardest to live even for another moment. My tongue will come out, my eyes will stay wide open, and as my last moments pass, I will feel excruciating pain before my bone is snapped, my air is cut off. Slowly, my heart will stop, and this brain that is thinking right now about so many things will finally come to rest.

And there it was. And before I was hanged, the last of the chants I heard were, “Death to the traitor!”

“Die!”

“Die!” “Yes!”

“Yes!”

“Death to the traitor!”

“Die!” “Yes!” “Die!” “Yes!”

Are you rejoicing my death so much? The man who was fighting for all of you, protecting you, upholding justice for you. Are you really so happy at my brutal demise, at my inhuman treatment, at the injustice done to me? Is it really such an entertainment? Am I just another convict dying on this rope, nameless, just his sins displayed which he didn't even commit? Is the justice that you know so shallow, or is the justice you project to others so shallow?

I was hanged.

There was a sharp pain. And as I had thought, my legs started to move around. I wanted to desperately flee. I wanted to have a release from this pain, from the suffocation. Air, I couldn't have it enough. As my legs flailed, in the next moment, I started to fall.

I hit the ground. My legs, I could tell, were terribly hurt. The cloth was still over my head. Someone picked me up and started running. The chaos was still up there, and I didn't know anymore what was happening.

My eyes closed. I don't know how, why, or how could I lose my consciousness. But I do know I lost that.

Whatever was about to happen to me, I knew one thing for sure. It wasn't the commander of a platoon or a man of the military anymore. I was going to be someone else, maybe even stripped from the very name that identified me.