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