An hour to go

An Hour to go!

An hour to go-- everything ends at eight o’clock and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. What surprised him was his own self control. Ever since the trial he’d expected to feel blinding outrage or resentment at the injustice of it all; but for some reason calmness had descended on his soul. Maybe it was a defence mechanism, or perhaps it was nature’s preparation for facing the destroyer of all delights. He’d thought about it for ten months and now it was here.

The barrister had argued his case with eloquence and sincerity-- he was innocent! He’d seen the assailant running away; he’d tried to help the poor unfortunate woman.  Blood on his clothes and the fact he’d actually picked up the knife condemned him. Guilty was the unanimous verdict of the jury. He remembered the black cap being placed on the judge’s head. Despite his protests and two appeals the sentence was confirmed. Desolation he now understood was being innocent!

At six this morning one of his guards had brought him the unwanted hearty breakfast. What a waste he told himself as he savoured every mouthful. At precisely ten minutes to eight four men led by a priest arrived at his cell door. Bound hand and foot his last view of the world disappeared as someone placed a hood over his head. His last feeling was of the floor giving way and his last thought-- what was the point of it all?