Dead man walking

17 Marzo 2014 , Scritto da Patrizia Poli Con tag #poli patrizia, #racconto

A penny for your thoughts.

Thinking about your girlfriend? Thinking about what to ask for dinner? Thinking about dawn that grabs you?

I see your arm, tattooed and strong, the tendons that harden just enough to allow you to snatch the bottle through the bars. Your eyes are normal, not fierce, but not naive, not good nor bad, just a common childish blue.

"Do not make contact ," they teach us at the preparatory course, "do not personalize ".

Will you piss in your trousers tomorrow? Shall I have to feel the smell of your armpits mingle with mine in the hallway?

There will be people attending , beyond the glass, people motivated by hate, people torn by grief. I do not hate you, you're my work.

So, tomorrow, in the hallway, I will think of the child you burned alive, I'll think of you when she stretched her arms - as the witnesses say - and called "please,help me" , while you were spilling gasoline on her. I shall ask, again and again, how much she has screamed, cried and suffered, I 'll ask it in front of your cyanotic face, while I'll hold the straps on the couch.

But when the piston starts, and syringes will fall one by one, I will be the same as you, I'll be the man who burns the child.

I wish I do not think tonight, I wish I do not dream, I wish you do not stay forever in my heart. Above all, I wish I do not wonder if, tomorrow morning , when you 're dead, I'll still be alive or not.

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