The Conquered Sun

There was something about the finality of death that kept us grounded. Maybe I’d gotten so used to seeing people alive that when their time ended, it came to me as a shock. Even when their deaths were something we already anticipated. Even when their executions were rightfully deserved. I stared at the lifeless body slumped on the execution chair. It struggled for a full minute before the poison finally worked its way into its heart. It—how soon the pronoun changed. Now that the life was gone from him and only a sack of flesh remained, would it still be called a person if he was no longer alive? I didn’t think so, too. Two Inquisitors climbed the elevated platform where the execution chair was bolted to, clad in their black neck-to-toe uniforms. I never tried wearing one but I’d seen the fabric up close. Fabric armour—that was how they described it. Soon I would be wearing one of those, too. The Inquisitor’s movements were calculated, but not gentle as they jerked the corpse out of the chair, dragging it by the armpits. I knew the body would be incinerated along with all the other trash of the city. None of the criminals, repenting or not, will be extended the same courtesy as the others who will be cremated and placed in the coliseum. Another pair of Inquisitors ascended the platform, gripping a thrashing criminal between them. He would be the last one for today; the next Execution Day would not be until four months later. Attendance was mandatory. History said this was a way of making examples out of criminals. Statistically, criminal activity in the city had lowered since the death penalty was implemented. It didn’t mean it was eliminated completely. A maniacal laugh escaped the man while they strapped him to the chair. This was normal among them. The days leading up to their death must’ve messed with their heads. His laughter came to an abrupt stop, his gaze scanning the crowd for familiar faces. He must’ve found the person, or persons, he was looking for because his breath hitched in his throat and his eyes began to tear up. “I’m not guilty,” he said. His voice had lost the fight, softening in resignation. “Telluria will fall if the true criminals remain on the throne. I’m telling you, they will kill us all!” He flinched in his seat, the only indication that the poison has been injected into his body and was already making its way to his veins. Unlike the others who spent their final minute thrashing and fighting the poison, he only closed his eyes as if waiting for death to claim him. There was only silence then he slumped like all others, the body going limp. Like all others, its name will forever be eradicated from our records. Like all others, it would be incarcerated and be erased from memory. It would be as if he never existed. When the final corpse had been taken away, a loud buzz resounded, concluding the event and ordering everyone to head back to their homes. I stood staring at the chair until I was the last person to leave the square. That night I dreamed of sitting on that chair for an infraction I knew nothing about. The man’s words came back to me. Telluria would fall, and it would happen sooner than we expected. Something pricked my wrist and somehow I knew it was the poison. I felt my entire body seizing, my throat straining to breathe, my entire body paralysed until it reached my heart.