Sunday, 24 June 2012
It's funny how I've grown envious of the common housefly I've stared at for the past hour. The world is its oyster, and it has the freedom to be anywhere, yet it chooses a wet, silver cell. This is definitely the last place in the world I want to be. My execution is today, and I will die a foolish man. I forgot to wash the blood from my hands. The fly doesn't know that. Its execution isn't scheduled for today. I feel it stays here because of the stench of murder and guilt I burden. But the fact that he stays with me speaks volumes. During my final hour, I have one friend.
"Bailey," says the guard, "You've got a visitor."
A visitor? But who could be visiting me? Every journalist in town has interviewed me at least twice.
"Mind you, he was a bit reluctant to see you."
I think I've figured out who my visitor is. Charles Bailey, my younger brother. His hatred for evildoers is embedded into his very core. When the news came out that I was the murderer of six year-old Chloe Mignogna, Charles spiralled into a rage saying how much he hated me and he wished I was dead. However, last time I saw him, he kept the same unchanging face of (ironically) a criminal. He just wanted me to make amendments and show the remorse I felt for unleashing evil. But I ignored him, and refused to apologise. He's got the exact same face as when we last met. I must've really crushed his faith in me.
"Shame I couldn't have come better dressed for the occasion. Orange is not my colour" I chuckled, just to break the ice. Charles didn't bat an eyelid. He has the same countenance as when I last saw him. I could have apologised at that point, and made a man out of myself. But I didn't, and ran like the coward I am. That's probably why I've felt so dirty. I've felt like I needed to get something off my chest, but couldn't. This is my last chance.
"Why are you here Charles?"
"I've come for some answers, Russell. I need answers. First of all, why did you kill her?”
"I did it for a rush. My life has felt so mundane and boring, I've felt like most of my life has been wasted. So I concluded that I should do something that would stop this Sisyphus curse and make me feel like I was king of the world. I killed a six year-old girl. And when I saw what I had done, it was the ultimate high: I was souped up on tiger blood, zooming through the cosmos. But on reflection, I conducted a putrid act, which I grieve every waking second. I'm kind of grateful I didn't do a good job hiding the evidence, otherwise I would have become the incarnation of Ted Bundy and be out there slaughtering women just for a buzz.”
It feels weird telling my brother this. Even though I've known him my entire life; it feels uncomfortable telling him about my nefarious actions. Perhaps it's because I'm walking on eggshells with him, and offending or scaring him is the last thing I want to do to him at this point in time. It doesn't seem to have affected him. His face has stayed both stationery and serious, like a bust.
"Okay then. So when you were in court, you had a golden opportunity to apologise to your family, your friends and the loved ones of Chloe. Why didn't you do that?"
"It's because I'm a coward. Nothing more than that. I should have admitted I was wrong and should've apologised to everyone. But I didn't, and that's been another horrible decision I made. I've grown a conscience since then, and it hasn't cleared since I've been in prison. So I want you to do me a mammoth favour: tell everyone who has been affected by my actions that I'm sorry. Can you do that?"
"Very well then" Charles replies. "But you're lucky I'm even here to begin with."
Looks like now I've got to redeem myself.
"Well, I felt an obligation to apologise to my family because they're the ones I've hurt the most."
"What?" Charles whispers as he finally perks up. His eyes have a faint glow inside them, as if he's stunned that I'm trying to put shattered pieces back together again.
"My parents have to live with the fact that they brought a demon into this world. Society will look down on you all as vile wastes of atoms and you all gave me so much love, support and care throughout my life."
Now I've got to show Charles how I really feel about him. Come on Russell, you can do it!
"Charles, thanks for coming here. Even though you were hesitant to come here. You came to me during my last day. You're an amazing brother Charles. I love so much. Do you love me?"
The last few words are hard to come out, since I've started to shed tears. I'm looking into Charles' eyes, and even he doesn't seem to know the answer. Coming to terms with whether or not you love a murderer who you've known and loved for so long must be hard. I just hope it's the answer I'm looking for.
"Yes, Russell. I love you."
My heart has just leapt out in utter joy. Knowing my brother stills loves me, I can die happy. We've both stood up and hugged each other. I haven't seen Charles cry since he was a teenager.
And so, with that, we part ways. Yet a warmth has sprung from my heart, and shined throughout my body. It feels good knowing I've made peace with not only my sibling, but also myself.
I'm approached with the electric chair. It looks so vacuous, I can even sense the souls of monsters who've departed from that lump of metal. The chair itself is uncomfortable, and is eerily cold.
The bag is being placed over my head, and it gives a nice reassuring feeling. The darkness feels more like a new start, not eternal blackness. But I’m still slightly nervous before I ride the lightning. Kind of ironic that I’m masked when I am staring death in the face.
Suddenly, a deep silence has filled the room. The atmosphere is so static, I could hear a pin dr--