The silver coins are heavy, and cold on my fingers. They make a light pinging sound as I count them in my sweaty palm. I drop them in a cloth sac like feeding pain pills into the mouth of a monster. 28, 29, 30, they are all there. The back of my neck is hot, the mob is restless, I lead them out into the garden.
Black night holds silver clouds aloft, they float above, watching. I know the place, I know the man, we find him easily. The mob is watching. I call him teacher, and kiss his cheek. They take him. The cold silver coins in my pocket are red hot. My neck grows cold as a rippling chill falls from my neck, down my back.
I learn, that my friend, my teacher, that I betrayed is going to be killed. It is early morning, I haven’t slept. When I find the group of leaders, they are angry and proud. The man I sold out is going to die. I tell them I made a mistake. They growl at me when they like a pack of wolves. Yet it is not me they want to devour, their bellies are full with the satisfaction of the lamb they caught, my teacher, my friend. I tell them I made a mistake, they don’t care. I throw the silver coins at them, in a burdened toss, yet my burden remains. The coins ping, and pling on the hard stone floor, as hard hearts laugh at my torment.
I am in sorrow, heavy black, sorrow. It feel like I swallowed a barrel of mud. I deserve to die! After three years, I am a fool, and a failure. I climb a tall tree, I fasten the rope around my neck, my face is red and hot with tears and snot. I don’t hesitate, I let myself fall of the branch. I think, “Dear God, please…” as I fall. Crack! My neck breaks, my breath is stolen from my mouth and locked in my chest. My mouth opens and closes, like a fish pulled from the water. In a moment I pass out. Darkness doesn’t have far to look to find me.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert