Story #45 - Redemption

Hello everyone! As you can tell by the title, this week's story is essentially about redemption. I've always found redemption to be one of the most pure and beautiful concepts in the world, and I've always wanted to write a story about it. I don't think religion is always necessary for redemption, but in this case, it plays a role in the story. Also, this story doesn't reflect my views on capital punishment or religion or anything like that. I hope you enjoy it! :)

Title: Redemption (suggestions welcome)
Warnings: character death, discussion of murder, violence, and gang life, death row, improper grammar
Summary: Artie has one more day to live, and a lot of things to think about.
Length: ~ 3,600 words
Notes: First person point of view, present tense. I'm going to say the genre is "crime," although there are definitely other aspects, like tragedy, angst, and spiritual.

Redemption

I’m gonna die tomorrow. But before you feel bad for me, you should know some stuff. I’m not sick. I’m not gonna kill myself. I can’t see the future. Well, I can, but not because I know magic or nothin’. I’m on death row, and they’re gonna kill me tomorrow.

When you live in the States, you don’t think they’ll actually kill you when you get on death row. Ever since I was a lil boy I heard stories of people we knew who were on death row and had been on there for ages and ages. Most people on death row die ‘cause they get too old, not ‘cause anyone actually kills them. So when I got on death row, that’s what I thought would happen.

I was scared, of course. I’m not gonna lie. I didn’t cry, though. Crying is for babies, and I haven’t cried since I was a baby. I was scared, but I figured I still had most of my life to live. It’d be like being in prison for life. It is, too – it’s just that my life is gonna be real short.

I dunno why they’re executing me so fast. I didn’t do anything that bad. Some of my cellmates here, though – they’re where the money’s at. Serial killers, terrorists, rapists, you name it.

Me? I killed a cop. Shot ‘im right in the head. (Stupidest thing I ever done. If he’d not been a cop I might not of gotten death penalty.) I stole some stuff, too. Necklaces and things, to support my family – my blood family and my stronger-than-blood family, the Phoenixes.

None of that matters right now, though. My ma’s dead and my pa was never part of the picture. And Johnny – who knows where he is right now. I hope he’s safe. I hope he doesn’t follow me. That’s the hardest thing about this world – if you’re born somewhere, you’re stuck there, whether you like it or not. I’d think that any guy born in Bill Gates’s lap would be happy to be there, go on cruises and burn money for lighting and stuff. But who knows. The way people are, they probably would wanna be born in my ma’s lap and not have any lighting at all. Just ‘cause it’d be somethin’ different.

Some of my homies were with me here. That had made me feel a little better, but now they’re all gone. All dead. Maybe they’re crackin’ down on the Phoenixes. Maybe that’s why I’m actually gonna die of execution instead of getting’ old.

Warden Greens stops by my cell and opens his mouth like he’s gonna talk. I like Greens. He ain’t mean like some of the other prison guards and wardens I’ve come across. One thing I’ve noticed is that a lot of the people here are nice to the inmates on death row, specially when their execution gets closer. It’s like, yes, they done wrong, but now they’re payin’ for it and we might as well be nice for their last days on Earth. Before I got here I think that attitude woulda bugged me, but now it’s nice to get some kindness, some face-to-face talkin', before I die.

“Hey, Artie,” Greens says.

“Mr. Greens,” I say.

He looks at me for a moment. I’m about to ask him what’s up, but then he says, “So, today’s your last day.”

I know that, but hearing it from him makes it all the more real. It’s like someone’s already stabbed the dagger in my heart. I don’t think they actually stab people with daggers anymore, if they ever did. But it’s like someone did just now.

“I know,” I say, when I can speak again.

“Prison policy is to give inmates on death row one last meal before their execution,” Greens continues. I’m glad he was getting somewhere with this and not just saying it to make me feel like I been stabbed. He’s a nice guy. “What would ya like to request, if anything?”

I think about it. I heard about these last meals. Kyle told me once that this guy from Texas, I think his name’s Lawrence something, he ordered some crazy big meal. Lots of people order a lot of food for their last meal, but his was really huge. I don’t remember all of it, but it had two chicken fried steaks, a cheeseburger, an omelet, a pizza, three root beers, some bread, some fudge, and some ice cream. They gave him all of it, and then he didn’t eat any of it. After that Texas don’t do last meals anymore.

For a moment I think about doin’ the same thing here in Florida. It’d be nice to make a name for myself, a better name than Dumb Guy Who Got Thrown in with a Gang and Didn’t Know Any Better. If I were Dude Who Got Rid of Last Meals, that’d be kinda cool. But who knows if Florida would do what Texas did. And I think everyone might be mad at me if I made 'em stop last meals.

I think I wanna eat my last meal, too. Though part of me doesn’t like the idea. It’s stupid. Why a last meal? They’re gonna kill you anyways. What does it matter if you eat nothin’, some grass, or a gourmet fillet mignon? But I think I wanna eat my last meal. I can ask for whatever I want. I don’t have to worry about whether it’s good for me or not.

Kyle told me that some dude just wanted one olive. Another wanted to watch The Lord of the Rings with his meal. Timothy McVeigh, this mass murderer, he wanted two pints of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Kyle said Jesus had some sour wine before they crucified him. People have asked for all kinds of things.

“Gimme a moment, Greens,” I say. “Lemme think of somethin’.”
“No problem,” Greens says. “Take all the time ya need.”

If I could really take all the time I need, I’d take so much time that we’d go past my execution time and then maybe I’d never die – from lethal injection, at least. But I know he don’t mean it as in take forever, so I set down to thinking fast.

What do I love? And more important, what have I always loved but never gotten to eat ‘cause it was bad for me, or too hard to get ahold of, or really pricey, or something? The only thing I can think of right now is some Outback steak. That stuff is good. Maybe I’ll ask for that. Some steak, some root beer, some mashed potatoes, and some vanilla ice cream. It's a bit of a wacky combination, but I’d like to go out of this world with some good food in me.

“I got it,” I say.

Greens takes out a notepad. “Let’s hear it.”

“An Outback steak, some mashed potatoes, a glass of root beer, and a scoop of vanilla ice cream.”

“Alright,” Greens says. “We’ll get it to you tonight.”

“Thanks, man,” I say.

“Oh, one more thing,” Greens adds. “Would ya like some sort of religious rite? We can have a priest over to bless ya or absolve ya of your sins, or if you’re Jewish or Muslim or something else we can have a rabbi or an imam over. Whatever religious ceremony you’d like, we can provide it along with your special meal, if ya want.”

I have to think about that. God has always been a messy matter for me. My ma used to be very Christian. She’d pray every day that we’d get through to the next, and sometimes we would go to church if she thought it was safe. But then at some point she just stopped praying. She never said why. She died before she could. But I think she lost faith. I think she looked around at her world and just lost faith. I don’t mean this in a bad way to her. My ma was the strongest person I know, and it hurts to think of her lookin’ down on me and sighin’. But I think that after years and years of praying and nothin’ to show for it, she got tired.

It happened to me too. I used to pray. I used to ask God to keep Johnny and my ma safe, and to keep me safe, and to help us all. There was somethin’ comforting in the silence God gave me back. He said nothin’, but I felt like he heard me. But then there came a time when the silence wasn’t good enough anymore. Bad things just kept happenin’ and nothing got better. So I stopped praying.

There was another part of it, too. I started to feel kinda bad. I didn’t wanna pray for God to help me steal a necklace. I knew it was wrong. And there was no way I was gonna ask him to help me kill a guy. And now that I’m on death row… I don’t have the right to ask God for help or a priest for a blessing. And even if I did, what good would it do? What does it matter how sorry I am before they kill me? I’m still gonna die. I dunno if there really is a life after death, but nothing’s gonna change the fact I killed a man. If all the priests in the world prayed for me, that still don’t mean I’m going to heaven.

I don’t wanna repent. I don’t wanna get blessed by a priest. I mean, who in this world or the next cares whether some priest says a few words over me? What does God care? If God cared, I wouldn’t be here right now.

“No thanks, Greens,” I say. “No blessings or nothin’. Just the food.”

“Alright,” Greens says. “I’ll bring your meal later. You just try to rest an' not think about tomorrow.”

“A’rite,” I say. “Bye.”

Greens leaves, and of course I think about tomorrow, and all my yesterdays too. How can I not? I’m gonna die tomorrow.

Hours later (I dunno how much) Greens comes back. He’s got all the food I asked for on a tray.

“Hey, Artie,” he says. “Here’s your food.”

He pushes it into my cell. It looks delicious, but suddenly I know how that Texan Lawrence felt. It’s hard to be hungry when you’re gonna die in a coupla hours.

“Thanks, Greens,” I say anyway.

“Sure,” he grunts. “Ya want anything else, tell me when I come back.” I nod, and he leaves me to my meal.

Partly ‘cause it’s gonna melt and partly ‘cause I never had a chance to eat dessert before dinner, I start on the vanilla ice cream first. It’s good. It’s hard to think that all too soon I won’t be able to taste anything anymore.

Is there a heaven? Is there a hell? Why don’t they have someone who will tell you these things, tell you for sure? Why is life such a guessing game? I wish someone would come back and tell us all what it’s like to die. I want my ma back. I feel like a lil boy again, needing her to hug me and tell me it’ll be alright. But she can’t do that, ‘cause she dead, and soon enough I’m gonna be, too.

After the ice cream I start on the potatoes. They're still warm, but not hot enough to burn my tongue. I didn’t eat potatoes enough in my life. I was too busy worrying about surviving to appreciate it when I ate it.

I think regret is the meanest thing God gave to humans. Why feel bad when you can’t do anything about it? Yeah, I wish I hadn’t killed that cop. I wish I hadn’t joined the Phoenixes at all. I wish I had gone to school and learned hard and gotten a good rich job like a doctor or lawyer. I wish I was someone my ma would be proud of. I wish I was a better brother to Johnny. But what good is all this wishing? It’s like I said – no one cares if I feel bad when I die. I’m still gonna die.

Well… no one cares, that is, but me. I care about my guilt, and I don’t want to die wishing and wishing and wishing. I wanna be like someone who would go up the guillotine and say, “Gimme all you got.” I wanna make a name for myself – not by being on death row, not by being stupid, not by gettin’ rid of last meals – I want people to remember me dying in a good way. Like, “That Artie, well he really knew how to go outta this world. He did it right.”

What is doing it right, though? What is dying right? The cop I killed didn’t die right. Falling to the ground bleeding in his head… I guess he died noble, though. Doing his duty an’ all that. My ma didn’t die right. She got sick and tired and sad, and she had so many regrets in her life.

“I made so many mistakes,” she’d said. “But you ain’t one of ‘em.”

I wonder if she’d say that now that I’m on death row for killing a cop and stealing stuff. I wonder if she’d feel better if she knew that I was sorry… that I asked for forgiveness.

That’s what I need – forgiveness. It’s a bit late for that, though. I’m gonna die real soon. I don’t have time to tell the family of that cop (‘cause man, he had family, didn’t he?) how sorry I am. They won’t care even if I did. Who wants to hear apologies from the killer?

I start on my steak. It’s good, so good I almost start to cry. But I hold the tears back. I’m not gonna cry. If you die cryin’, you ain’t dying right. Anybody could tell you that.

I think I need forgiveness from myself. I need to accept my life and my mistakes so I can die right. But that’s easier said than done.

I was an idiot, yes. I know that. I made all the wrong decisions in life. But there was good things in my life, too – love and friendship and family, fun times playin’ basketball with the gang and jumpin’ through sprinklers and starin’ up at the stars. What I wouldn’t give to see the stars one more time.

I hate that my life has to end. I hate that I brought this on me. But my life is what it is, and my death will be what it will be. My death, I can still control, even if I’ve screwed up my life.

Greens comes back just as I finish my meal. The root beer feels nice as I swallow the last of it.

“Hey, Archie,” Greens says. “Let me take that. Do ya want anything else?”

I want forgiveness, I think. Forgiveness. I think I know where I might be able to get that.

“Yeah,” I say. “Can you get me a priest after all? So I can confess my sins and get a blessing?”

Greens glances at his watch. “Yeah, we have enough time,” he says. “Does it matter what type of priest it is?”

My ma was Catholic, so… “Catholic,” I say.

“Okay. We’ll get you one.”

“Thanks. You’re the best, man.”

Greens walks away. I’m stuck thinkin’ again, but it’s not so bad this time. I feel like a weight has settled, in a good way, like I made up my mind and now I can relax. The priest will give me some feeling of forgiveness, both for how I ran my life and the mistakes I made. He’ll help me accept the things I can’t change, and die right.

I might not’ve lived a life I can be proud of, or ma can be proud of, or Johnny can be proud of. But it wasn’t all bad. I made friends, real friends, and I helped them. I ate Outback steak and I watched TV shows and I laughed. I took a man’s life and there’s nothin’ I can do to make up for it but die right and show him some respect.

“I’m sorry, man,” I whisper. “You didn’t deserve to die, just like I didn’t deserve the life I lived. And I’m sorry, God. I almost gave up on ya when I needed ya the most. Please forgive me.”

All I get back is silence, but it’s the good type of silence. The cop’s silence and God’s silence, tellin’ me it’s alright.

It’s the mornin’ of my execution, and Greens has brought a priest to me. He’s tall and old and friendly, but he looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. It must hurt him to see people like me. It’s good of him to come here.

“Hello, Father,” I say.

“Peace be with you, my son,” he replies. I hardly ever had someone call me ‘son’ before.

We start the confession. The words that my ma taught me come back to me like I never forgot ‘em. “Bless me Father for I have sinned,” I say. “I’ve stealed, an' lied, an' cheated. I’ve wasted my life on this Earth. But worse of all, I’ve killed a man – a good man, a cop. Please forgive me, Father, for I am so, so sorry.”

“God sees your humble repentance,” the priest says. “He asks only this for your penance – that you say three Hail Marys before you leave this world to join Him in His eternal kingdom.”

You’re already losing your life, that’s penance enough, I can imagine the priest thinking. “Thank you, Father,” I say. “I’ll do it.”

“Then may our Lord Jesus Christ absolve you; and by His authority I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen,” the priest says, makin’ the sign of the cross.

“Amen,” I say. “Thank you.”

“God be with you, my son,” the priest says. “You have made the right choice today.” He leaves, and I do feel a bit better. Getting forgiveness from God didn’t fix everything, but it helps me forgive myself.

I’ve gotten that good silence from the cop I killed. I’ve gotten my sins absolved by a priest. I’ve eaten my last meal. Now there really ain’t anything to do but wait ‘till I die, and I hope I do it right. If there’s one thing I can be proud of wherever I end up in the afterlife (if there even is one), it’ll be that I died right.

“We’re ready for you,” Greens says what seems like minutes later. He and some other guards take me out of my cell and handcuff me. The cold metal chafes my wrist but I relish the feeling - any feeling. They lead me between ‘em to the room where I’m gonna die. "Lethal injection" they call it. At least it’s not the electric chair. I dunno if I’d be able to hold the tears back if it was the electric chair.

I feel every step. I feel the blood rushing through my body, my beating heart, my quick breaths. I’ve never felt more alive than in the moment I’m gonna die. Ever part of me is thrummin’ with life. Including my tear ducts, but I ain’t gonna let ‘em win.

They strap me to the table. The room is dark and gray. One of them pulls out a needle. I always used ta be scared of needles. My ma wouldn’t hardly ever take us to the doctor anyways, ‘cause she didn’t have insurance, but whenever she would she’d make me and Johnny got shots. I hated ‘em. But I’m gonna take this one.

For the last time, it hits me. I made a mistake – a series of mistakes, really, like some crazy domino set – and it cost me my life. Loads of people do this every day. They pick the wrong alley to walk down. They drink a bit too much before they go on the road. They get sick of this life and want to end it. Whatever the reason, plenty of people make a mistake that changes or ends their life. I just never thought I’d be one of them.

I chose bad and I sacrificed my life. And that sucks. But at least I’ve realized that. I’ve realized it, and I’ve repented, and maybe I can stop people from going the way I did. Maybe if Johnny ever hears about me – I dunno if he knows what happened to me, but Florida has records of everyone killed on death row so eventually he might – maybe I can stop someone from making the same stupid, life-ruining mistakes I did.

“Anything you wanna say?” Greens asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “Johnny, if you ever hear about this – don’t make the same mistakes I did. Go to school, don’t get involved with gangs, enjoy your potatoes, and don’t give up on God or yourself. Anyone who hears this – listen to the wisdom of a dying man. Live your life the best you can, and don’t waste it, or you’ll end up just like me, tryin’ not to cry when someone’s about to stab a needle into you.”

“Good words,” Greens says. “Well-spoken.”

I smile, and I don’t cry. Then one of them injects me, and slowly the world fades away.

I die right.

The End! J