Justice

I sat stiffly on the metal frame of the bed and stared intently at the floor, which was by far the most interesting part of the entire cell. The grey sponge mattress, which was the whole of three inches thick, had long since slid up against the side of the wall and now lay in a creased heap. I was nervous, but more because of the people in the cells next door than the reason I was here. Peripheral vision told me that the inmate in the cell facing mine was waving at me, reaching through the bars. Yelling something at me, but I had long stopped hearing. I found that was better for my nerves. Not that bloodstains on the concrete helped much either. I stopped myself seeing them.

Suddenly the mood changed as the baying and shrieking died down and the sound of smart, brisk footsteps took the centre stage. I listened to the footsteps carefully. There was definitely more than one person, but not a large group. At least one of them was wearing posh high-heeled shoes - new, probably, if it was who I thought it was.

I looked up in interest as a guard approached the door of my cell and unlocked it with one of a multitude of keys on a large ring and opened the door wide. I briefly wondered if he had worked here so long that he could pick out the right key in a split second, or if he had picked out the correct key earlier and kept hold of it.  I also entertained the idea of making a break for it. Maybe I could make it through the door before the guard had time to stop me. Maybe I could make it down the corridor and around the corner before he could draw his gun. Maybe I wouldn't run into any more guards before I could escape. Then again, I would probably get caught. I would probably look like an evil coward. I would probably be punished before my sentence was carried out.

Then through the door came exactly the person I thought it was and hoped it wasn't. Her face seemed more pale than usual, and I wasn't surprised. This wasn't a place I'd like to be if I could help it. Why exactly she was here I couldn't fathom, though she had been the only person who liked to see me since I was put on trial. Well. "Like" wasn't quite the right word.

"You're making a mistake, Maya" I told her nervously, while getting slowly to my feet. She had always been unpredictable, but ever since I committed my crime she had become completely wild.

"How can I be making a mistake?" she demanded. She was glaring straight into me, I could tell, but I didn't look back. She had extremely intense blue eyes which made me feel uncomfortable. She seemed able to tell how I felt if I looked into her eyes. "You told us you were responsible as soon as we found you. You have confirmed this fact several times since. You told us how you did it and you told us why you did it. We have no other suspects. If you want to change your statement then, please, tell us who else did it, and why, and explain, then, why there are such strong links between yourself and the crime."

Her tone was sarcastic, but I chanced a look into her eyes. They were full of hate, anger, accusation, and - could it be? Hope?

I closed my eyes and cast my thoughts back to the few memories I had of that day. There weren't many of before I woke up on the beach, at the foot of a steep and stony cliff, my condition suggesting I jumped off it. That was the last of my clear memories, but...someone crying, pleading...Maya's sister's voice, Sofia...and then I saw her, she was cowering, and looking at me. I could hear her. "Please, I'm scared, I don't want to die." Her sob-stricken voice cut through me like a knife.

I opened my eyes and stared directly into Maya's, trying to force myself to admit to what my brain was telling me. I swallowed hard, and my eyes flickered away from her face before I forced them to return. "No, it was me. I...k-killed Sofia."

Maya glared at me with complete and utter contempt and venom for a full five seconds, and I stared back, spellbound by the sheer intensity she could charge into that gaze. Suddenly she struck me across the face so forcefully that I fell sideways. My left shoulder made contact with the frame of the bed and jarred; my head whipped backwards, and I heard a cracking noise before I slipped from my awkward position half-on the bed and ended up on my side on the floor while my brain struggled to keep up with what was happening around me.

"You can take her now." Her voice faded in and out of my hearing, and I tasted blood. A gloved hand tightly gripped each of my upper arms and I was hauled to my feet and pulled down the corridor, my feet dragging, until I came to my senses and managed to move my feet in time with them. The other prisoners were yelling again, but it was then that I noticed that the things they were shouting were positive, they were wishing me luck.  I stopped and tried to think if I should say anything, and if so, what, but the guard on my right jerked me forward so that the pain shot up my arm and agonisingly into my left shoulder, which I noticed was unusually large and crooked, and I could feel it throbbing . I pulled away on instinct, and immediately the two guards grabbed hold of my arms again and lifted me so my feet weren't touching the ground, and carried me out that way. I didn't bother struggling.

I stared upwards as we went, and watched as we were suddenly out from under the cracked ceiling and blinded by sunlight. The low murmur of large crowds of people which I hadn't previously acknowledged rose to an excited hum. I was lowered slightly and once again I was walking, although when it came to approaching a gallows I wasn't quite sure if I wouldn't rather be carried.

I stopped, perhaps involuntarily. Again, the guard on my right jerked me forward, but again it didn't work, only this time I stumbled and fell to my knees. The guards dragged me onwards, and up the steps. I half-heartedly attempted to walk, but it seemed a lot harder to do so when I knew that soon I wouldn't be able to.

The guards let go of me; I stumbled but stayed on my feet. They turned away from me and began to prepare the noose, which I avoided looking at. Instead, I took in my surroundings, deciding to get my last glimpse of the world. The crowd was huge, as it normally was for such a rare event. They reminded me of people in the theatre; polite anticipation. They all looked so eager, like they couldn't wait to see me die. Come to think of it, seeing as I was a cold-blooded child murderer, I didn't blame them. The saying; "Goodbye, cruel world" seemed to make much more sense.

Suddenly I was pulled to the edge of the gallows. Evidently I had been told to, but hadn't been listening. Someone was reciting something. The long-winded, better-sounding version of "An eye for an eye". I was quite thirsty, and thought how pointless that was.

I couldn't concentrate, and focused instead on the executioner. It was one of the guards from earlier, though I couldn't tell which. I wondered why he worked here, and if he wanted to. He glanced sideways at me. Deciding it could hardly get any worse anyway, I turned to face him and asked; "Do you like your job?"

He glanced sideways at me again. "It's a necessary evil" he murmured.

I pondered this a while, but still didn't understand. After all, plenty of other places did well enough without the irreversible sentence. And surely he cared that it was inevitable that at least a small fraction of the people he killed would be innocent? And surely he felt guilty for being responsible for the deaths of these people, criminals or not? I began to open my mouth to ask him to clarify, but as I did so he put a firm hand on my shoulder, and pushed me backwards. Off the edge.

I couldn't help it. Everyone wanted it over quickly, I included, but as soon as I felt myself lose my balance, I grabbed hold of the executioner's arm and clung there. His eyes widened in panic and shock as he looked into mine. I flailed, my feet waving around in mid-air. I clawed at the material of his uniform, in a complete panic, my view flashing in time with my pulse as I slowly slipped further down. I studied his face carefully and saw what I had wanted to know.

He did care. He saw me there, face growing darker, eyes slipping out of focus, my instinctive fear, he really saw it, and he cared. Then my hands slipped, and I was not.