Prisoners of death(1)

A few days ago I was ordered to die. I do not wish to argue with anyone whether the crime for which I have been sentenced to death is a crime at all. Crime and punishment are both very relative things, what the state considered a crime was nothing more than a mere curiosity to me.

My daily life has changed dramatically since receiving the death sentence. During the trial, my cell seemed like an unbearably suffocated tiny cell. These days, deep pain is born in my mind because of this axe. A square foot of sky can be seen through the small window, I stare at that sky for hours. I didn't know that there could be so much beauty hidden in the white clouds against the background of the blue sky. Lately, I have developed a deep love for everything in the world. I felt a sharp pain that day when I saw ants lined up in my leftovers.

For the past two weeks, I have been slowly preparing myself for death, a very difficult task. The argument tends to become meaningless in the intense hatred of the world without reason. I am not old, and I am not extraordinarily talented, but my intense vitality has taken me to the heights of success. I could enjoy, and even make my life meaningful, but I was not given that opportunity.

After receiving the death sentence, I was given some extra opportunities for the last few days of my life. The protein ratio in my diet has been increased, better drinks have been provided, bathroom facilities have been improved, and above all newspapers and books have been allowed to read. Nothing can be as meaningless as the daily news of the world approaching death. I glanced at a single newspaper on the first day and did not feel motivated to open it a second time. There was long talk of a mission to send an unmanned autonomous spacecraft into deep space, and I had no enthusiasm for it.

Sometimes I scribble on paper or try to write something down, mostly disjointed and seemingly meaningless thoughts. These will probably remain in my files long after my death. I have thought a few times of writing to loved ones, but I don't have many loved ones, and my reluctance to intensify the grief of those who do has discouraged me.

Nowadays I meet the guard in charge of this cell three times a day, he brings me food all three times. He used to misbehave with me, but since he got the death sentence he has started to be a little kinder. Last night he even gave me a cigarette from his pocket, without knowing that I smoke! I scrutinize the man, a naïve middle-aged man, unable to think beyond government-mandated constraints. They are usually happy in their personal life. It wouldn't be bad to spend the last few days of life in the company of a slightly more intelligent animal. I am supposed to meet some other people on the day I will be killed. According to ancient rules, I will be tied to a chair and shot. Capital punishment is retributive punishment, designed to make it as painful as possible. Seven to ten men are armed with automatic weapons. Death is painful, but thankfully the pain is short-lived. In the moments before death or the memories of a lifetime flashed together, there was nothing left in the future to give me but a little curiosity about the matter for now—at least that's what I knew.

So when in the morning my cell door was opened and a very high-ranking man with two guards came to meet me, I was surprised. The man was a man of very few words, completely ignoring me and my tiny messy room and got straight to business. He said, only two weeks left for your execution.

I shook my head.

If you agree, it can be arranged to carry out your execution by firing squad.

Did you bother just to say that?

no

Tell me what to say. I have no qualms about dying unconventionally.

You may know that an unmanned autonomous spacecraft is heading into space within days.

Suddenly I was very surprised to hear this irrelevant word. I saw it in the newspaper.

The high-ranking man said in a calm tone, if you agree, you will be put on that spaceship.

The spacecraft will not return to Earth?

will come

I will not come back?

You too will return, but you will not be alive.

Why?

I don't know, so far no one has returned alive from this expedition.

O! I shut up. Instead of being shot down on Earth, in space. I found no motivation within myself to die for some unknown reason in some unknown environment. I sat quietly for a while and asked, how long is this expedition?

About a year, six months to go, another six months to come back.

I was a little encouraged the first time. A year or six months is a long time for someone who dies in two weeks, even though it is the lonely, friendless, lonely atmosphere of space. But my enthusiasm was completely extinguished when I heard the man's next words. He said, you will be put to sleep at the beginning of the journey, and you will wake up at the destination. I don't know what will happen to you there, but for some reason, you will die, and your body will be brought back to earth.

I had no curiosity about what to do with my dead body, the man knew it by looking at my face and keeping quiet