I am a figure known all around the world, to many different people, as many different things. You can simply call me God. Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I’m here to offer you worldly advice or the secret of life or something like that. Well, that’s not it. Seriously, don’t fret about me; I just wanna tell you a story.
It is currently April 23, 2006, 2:47 p.m. We are located in the city of Abbott, Arkansas.
The air in the jail cell is drafty yet warm. It presses on Peter’s skin, forming tiny beads of sweat on his partially bald head. Peter stands at 5′9″, weighs 233 pounds, and has small, watery blue eyes. He is currently squatting on his flat mattress, in his bright orange jumpsuit, reading his Bible. Ironic; he’s never been religious before. That’s no matter, though, no matter. In precisely three hours, and now, nine minutes, he will be killed. He will be killed at exactly 6:00 p.m. and there isn’t anything I’m gonna do to stop it.
Peter had a very classic childhood. He was a shiny boy, born in 1959. His mother wasn’t a feminist, she lived her life the way her mother did. His father was an upstanding citizen, respected by many. Like said, all fairly normal. On his seventh birthday, he was dressed in a yellow and brown striped shirt, he wore a small, paper crown that his mother had bought for him, and he was surrounded by his three brothers and one sister. His sister’s name was Patricia. She was probably one of the most compassionate people he had ever known. Peter’s older brother’s left early for school every day in order to not walk with him and his little brother, Timmy. Patricia always waited, even though she was the oldest. Even if it meant being late, she always waited.
His dad was working late; and with one simple phone call, they sat down and ate meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans, and were now watching him blow out the candles. He wished for basic things. A new bike or perhaps that really expensive baseball glove he had picked out at the store. His mother fussed over the candles, and the wax that dripped on the cake. She cut perfectly symmetrical pieces, giving him the first one. He absolutely loved being served first. It was the perfect cake on one of the most perfect days he had lived. His baseball glove was wrapped in a dull green paper with trains on it, and a baseball from his brothers and sister was wrapped in matching paper. They had all made him cards, and his parents had bought him a card. All of this thought had made him smile.
After he went to bed, and had maybe been asleep for twenty minutes, his father crept in. He sat at his son’s feet, and lightly shook young Peter awake. When Peter came to, he smiled at him.
“There’s my boy. You’re growing up so fast. You’ll be a man soon, yah know?” He said quietly. Peter knew he had given the same talk to his two older brothers, but it meant so much more when it was directed at him. It made him feel special. “I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday. I wish I coulda been there tonight. You like you’re present alright?” His father’s voice sounded kind, not authoritative like it usually did.
“Yes, sir, it was perfect.” His father smiled at him slightly, patted him on the head, and exited as quietly as possible. Peter drifted off, the excitement of everything slowly waning.
He continued to turn the aging pages of his Bible. This makes me smile, to see his dedication. His eyes are strained. Peter has been reading for quite some time now, determined to finish before he dies. I can see it. He is afraid, though I am certain he has accepted the inevitable. Time has been granted to him, allowing him to come to dread his impending death. He has waited on death row for six long years. Years of routine and dread. What a way to come to an end.
When he was nineteen, Peter got a job at a diner down the street from the University of Arkansas , where he was studying to be an accountant. Though he was extremely bright, financial aid was lacking, so one afternoon he walked into this rustic, cozy diner with the intention of getting a job with his best friend, Jordan. Mrs. Eberle, the owner, made snide comments at him as he filled out his application. Jordan watched as he mopped the floor.
“I can’t be paying you much, especially if you just plan on standing around,” She snapped at him. Peter smiled and took the remark with a grain of salt. He was at the point of desperation.
“That’s okay, Mrs. Eberle, you pay me what you can afford. I promise I’ll work as hard as I can.” She rolled her eyes at his; and Jordan, a tall, lanky, fellow, chuckled to himself.
“I don’t like a kiss ass either. You start tomorrow, three o’ clock sharp! Black work pants, a white t-shirt, and hats are allowed. I’ll provide you with an apron.” She sidled away; and Jordan shot him thumbs up. Mrs. Eberle was rather large, grey haired, and wore over sized glasses. It was ridiculous, how she looked. However, he beamed with pride at the prospect of making his own living for now.
Peter closed his Bible. He laid back on his bed, his mind swirling with thoughts that none of you, I’m sure, could imagine at this point in time. The fear of not finishing taunted him a little bit. It is the one thing he had left to do, the one thing he felt like he might not finish, and here he was lying down, avoiding it all together. Peter all the time felt nauseous with guilt as he read. He wishes desperately to be with normal society, but he feels as though he deserves to be where he is. His eyes closed, and he drifts slightly into a different world than this.
Even though he had been offered overtime that night, he didn’t take it. Emily, his wife of exactly three years today was waiting at home with his favorite meal- meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans. His life was going well, but now it felt complete. They were young and head over heels for one another. He entered their small apartment with a tiny bouquet of carnations. He wished he could afford better for his love, but he couldn’t. Right now they were struggling as is, but he was determined to make this night somewhat special.
She wore a red, knee length skirt, white knit top, and an apron. Her brown hair was pulled tightly into a bun. Emily had been working hard all day to get the meal exactly right. Peter swept right in, with a rather flat stomach and full head of hair, and kissed her hard on the mouth. His happiness had reached an all time high, and he never realized how surreal a home life could be.
Emily giggled and put the carnations in a vase, absolutely thrilled with their beauty. As they sat down to dinner, he talked excitedly about his job. She listened with great attention, and never let it falter. After dinner, they sat on their couch. For the time being, they couldn’t afford a TV, but they sat in silence, enjoying each others company.
The warmth in the apartment was different that the warmth in the cell. Now it is sweltering. It is now 4:34 p.m. Soon, he will be served his chosen meal, then taken into another part of the building, and be killed. He jumps up and starts reading his Bible furiously. He is determined to finish.
None of his family would come to Christmas that year. He watched as Emily and Allie, his now nine year old daughter, put up the decorations. He just got in from shoveling the driveway of their small townhouse. Everything was finally coming together; they had the kind of life that Peter had always wanted to build for them. His daughter bounced around, hanging up her favorite ornaments first. She was a small girl, with brown curly hair. She was perfect in his eyes, everything a father could want in a daughter. Peter had been working extra over time these past few weeks to buy his daughter and wife everything they could want. He bought the really expensive porcelain doll that Allie had wanted, and the pearl necklace that Emily would never even admit she wanted.
“Daddy! Daddy! Put me on your shoulders so I can put the star on top. I wanna do it!” She exclaimed, while pulling on his arm. He chuckled softly. He lifted her up; she was so heavy now. Heavier than he remembered. Emily beamed at her family.
I can see now that Peter has given up. He has reached a passage that has made him stop, and can’t go on. Good thing too. It is five minutes until five, and time for him to eat.
The guard opens the door to his cell and hands him a plate with his dinner on it. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans, which is exactly what he had asked for. Peter eats slowly, savoring the flavor that dances on his tastes buds. It’s the perfect meal for a horrible ending. He tries not to think about what is going to happen after he is finished. His iced tea is entirely too sweet, not how Emily makes it, but he makes do. Peter is grateful for this last piece of pity he has received before they kill him.
Peter hasn’t had a chance to live a full life, and it’s a shame he doesn’t. Great things will happen after he leaves your world. Do not think me angry or anything. This is not my punishment for him, it’s yours. I do not find him a failure for what has happened. Or a disappointment, I understand that things can happen. Even bad things.
You can see now he was a normal human being trying to live his life the best, and only way, he could. A normal human being, maybe just like you, or your dad, is marched down the hallway. The only one who has come to bid him goodbye is Patricia. She says she loves him, and she’ll miss him. He doesn’t answer, though. He can see the hate in her eyes. Peter doesn’t want to cry. It’s too late for that.
He sits in the chair calmly. The doctor injects a lethal fluid into his arm, and he closes his eyes as his life runs away from him. The memories, pain, and happiness; all of it flees his body. His sister cries harder, and then leaves before the process is complete.
Peter’s body is soon limp and lifeless. He is dead now, and some of the cruel people in the world think society is better off with him gone. Take heed, however. Do not be so quick to cast your judgments on others. A man is dead now, and the people he loves mourn, despite their own judgments about him.
Some can be so horrible and mighty to pass out consequences to others. And who do you think you are exactly?
Like I said, it’s just a simple story. Just a life lost, among the millions I’ve created, and the millions you’ve destroyed. Not a big deal…right?
