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TITLE: The Substitute By Gabrielle Pickle 04/28/06 |
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The Substitute
by L.G. Pickle
06:15am
My name does not matter, who I am does not matter. Nothing matters now. I only have one more day to live, twenty-four hours left, 1,440 minutes until I am forced to stop breathing forever.
12:05am
I am living on death row. Sentenced for ‘Unspeakable crimes against humanity.’ They would not televise my court hearing, because what I had done, the crimes I had committed, were not fit for humans to hear or see. For the American Media to choose not to cover a breaking story says more than words ever could.
18:35pm
My cell is cold and dreary. There are blankets on the cot, and a thermometer on the wall, but sitting here in the fading sunlight, the shadows from the barred window falling across my face, I can’t get warm. Death is coming, and death is cold.
24:55pm
Everything is quiet, even the guards avoid speaking. A last reverence for the soon-to-be-dead. The silence is nerve-wracking. If only someone would say something, someone besides that Priest outside my door. You can’t expect me to talk, I’m the one who is going to die. The ticking of the clock in the hall echoes throughout my cell, again and again, until it is time.
06:05am
Time, I don’t have any time, in just a few minutes, time will cease to exist for me, and my time on earth will be over.
As the frosty pale light of dawn drifted through the windows of the gray concrete building, a lone figure made his way up the steps. A long, dark overcoat hung from his tall frame, a felt hat covered the features of his face. Opening the door to the prison, he entered, the metal door clanging shut behind him.
06:15am
It is time, I can tell. They took my wristwatch, but I can tell. The guard’s footsteps echo hollowly in the corridor as he walks toward my cell. My palms start to sweat. A blurred face appears in the window of my cell door. A key turns in the lock. Beads of sweat trickle down my forehead. I stand on weak knees as the guard motions for me to come with him . . . to hell. As we walk down the long dark passageway, I notice that the tips of my fingers are numb. The cold sweeps over me until I am sure even in the electric chair, I will feel no pain. I’ve wondered about death, what is it like? Is there really a hell like the Priest said, or will I simply cease to exist?
Now is not the time for questions. The guard opens the door to the execution chambers. I will know the answers to my questions soon. Two guards hold me in the chair, as another straps me down. They are expecting a fight, they do not know that I cannot move. I watch my fingers turn a pale shade of blue, the straps must be too tight, yet I feel nothing. They rub gel onto my shaved head to help the electrodes cling properly. I sit and wait. There is no time. It might be hours, or only a few seconds. It does not matter, it is the end.
I look at the observation window, wondering who has come to watch me die. There are a few family members of those I murdered, the Priest, and in the back, a man in a dark overcoat and hat. He moves closer to the window and motions to the guards. They seem to understand, I don’t care, I just wish they would finish it.
With a swish of dark overcoat, the stranger enters the execution chambers. He removes his coat and hat, revealing the orange jumpsuit of a prisoner. His head is shaved, and one of the guards gives him gel he needs. In a matter of minutes, all is ready. The murderer is held firmly between two guards across the room from the electric chair, where the stranger now sits. He is not strapped down, something far stronger holds him there. The prisoner stares in disbelief at the man who has taken his place. The two study each other; cold blue eyes full of distrust meet fathomless brown eyes across the room. The brown eyes slide shut, and the murdered hangs his head.
The end has come . . .
. . . and yet, a beginning. The end of one mans life enables the other to begin. Justice is served. The penalty for unspeakable crimes against humanity has been paid. This was no pardon, the murderer’s crimes require the death penalty, and it has been fulfilled. A beginning.
Five Years Later
09:40am
My time has again run out. I am dying. I’ve lived five years longer than anyone expected. Not many inmates walk out of the execution chambers. I always expected to die a violent death. Live a violet life, die a violent death. I never expected cancer, but it is still death.
I think a great deal about death. I came so close that I could feel it, and yet, I’m not dead. That does strange things to a man. I wonder what death is, how it feels. Will it be different from my former brush with death, or will it be the same cold numbness that consumes me?
Every morning when I get up, every night as I go to bed, I see his face, his eyes. I see his death. Not that I am complaining, I’m just a little puzzled. Questions plague me every waking moment: Who was that man? Why did he die in my place? All these years I’ve wondered about him. Now I’ll never know. Or perhaps, I’ll finally know, as I join him in death.
I’m so tired, death is exhausting. I am going to sleep until the end.
It has come . . .
. . . And with it, a beginning.
In a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, everything changed; room the bedroom of a convict, to the ethereal kingdom of beauty and light. The convict was welcomed into the city by majestic beings’ clothed in vibrant light.
Trumpets sounded and a hush fell over all people. The inhabitants of the city fell to their knees as the beings’ cried out, “Our King and our God.”
The convict turned toward the sound of thundering hooves, a smile on his face to greet the King of this magnificent city.
There was no crown, no royal robes. He stood gazing at the man clad in a dark overcoat and felt hat. An iridescent orange jumpsuit peeking from beneath his coat.
Questioning blue eyes looked up at loving brown eyes, and suddenly, the convict understood.
“‘See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has triumphed. He is able to open the scroll and its seven seals.’ Then I saw a Lamb…”
Revelation 5: 5-6
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