The End

By Becky

They each have three bullets.

They each have three bullets to end my life with. God knows it can only take one. There are six men, three bullets each. That’s eighteen bullets. They each get three shots, and if you’re not dead when the bullets are gone then they let you go. That’s never happened though. They don’t miss.

I’ve seen them practicing and I know how good they are. And Kemp is part of the detail they’ve put together to execute me. How cruel is that? I’m standing against a wall, shackled, and they send a marksman as part of the firing squad. I’ve seen Kemp in action before, he’s good, maybe the best.

For the last six months I’ve had a cell with a window. There were other cells before, but this one was the most memorable. A window. How long had it been since I could look outside? The window they gave me looked out on a grassy field that serves as the soldier’s practice range. So I’ve seen how good they are with their rifles. And like I said, Kemp is the best. There’s no mistaking him with that wild ginger hair. It’s more than that though. There is a stillness in his posture that is uniquely his. The others fiddle with their guns and fidget, but he is still as water.

I had no illusions about escape. The guards are too good and the cells are too strong. Besides I knew what was coming. I knew what the cell with the window meant. It meant that I was going to die. None of the guards on the practice range would come near my window. They knew what this room was about. All day long I could hear the crack of their guns knowing that soon they would be pointed at me. It’s bad luck to spend too much time around the condemned. Those soldier boys and their guns. They constantly begged Kemp to show off his skill. I always watched that. I’ve never seen anyone with that kind of skill with a gun. I don’t know why they think that they need that skill today. Maybe it was just luck of the draw. Maybe Kemp is being punished for being near the condemned.

I don’t know what brought Kemp to my window then. One day there was the crunch of a boot in gravel outside my window, and curious as I was, I looked to find Kemp there. We never spoke, and he only looked at me once, but he was there. Every few days I would find him outside my window, leaning against the wall. I don’t know why he did it. When he came I would stand at my window, leaning on my elbows, just standing. Maybe he just wanted to be near someone who could be still. All those boisterous soldier boys night and day.

After all this time, I am relieved by the knowledge that today it ends. It ends one way or the other. I don’t allow myself to think that they will miss. They won’t, so it will be the other. I’m going to die, and I welcome it. I’m glad it’s Kemp holding one of those guns. He’ll put a bullet through my heart or my head, and it will be over. I don’t have to worry about some silly boys maiming me and dying a slow agonizing death.

I stand here in the sun and wait. I had hoped it would be raining. I’ve missed the rain. My cell with the window allowed me to see and smell the rain, but I wanted to touch it. A few inches short, just the tips of my fingers wet. Instead I have a clear, sunny day, which is not so bad. I watch them and wait. I’ve refused the blindfold. After all I’ve seen, a few bullets are not going to bother me.

I’ve heard sometimes there are soldiers without the stomach for execution. They miss on purpose. It is one thing to shoot someone in the heat of battle; it is another to be their executioner. That’s why there are six of them. The blonde boy seems nervous. Maybe this is his first execution. Don’t worry kid; Kemp will get the job done.
Gloustcher is reading the order for execution. I think I’ve made him hate me. I never gave in and now he has to have me killed for it.

Oh God, I’m going to be free.

They’ve picked up their guns. The blonde boy is trembling. He’s going to miss. Only five bullets then, but only one will matter.

Kemp, he’s looking at me now. I want to tell him thank you. I won’t get a chance to after. I hope he can see it in my face, my gratitude.

Everything seems so still. Even the clouds in the sky hold their breath.

“Ready.”
They shoulder their guns.

“Aim.”
The last moment. I forgive them. The blonde boy closes his eyes.

“Fire.”
The guns roar.

Thank you.