A/N:
I always thought the Hunyak was innocent, even though I have no idea what
she's saying. So, a tribute to her. Movieverse, as I sadly have not yet seen
the play.
Not guilty!
I want to scream out the only words in English I can say, the only ones that could save me, and now, the most useless things in the world for me: Not guilty!
My shoes click-click against the wooden steps of the gallows as I walk slowly up the stairs. I think frantically: I could run; I could pretend to faint; I could beg for help; but what good would it do? I would be captured in an instant if I ran, and all these people think I'm guilty; everyone thinks I have done wrong. But I have not!
Not guilty!
The guard leads me over to the center of the platform and guides the noose over my head, around my throat. A quick tug, and it is tight around my neck, scratching against my skin like the bonds on my wrists. I feel panic rising in my throat, more potent than anything else I have ever felt. I want to struggle, to lash out, to run and escape. I don't want to die! I have done nothing wrong! I did not kill him!
Not guilty!
Now I am moving again, though I am walking blind; my tears obscure my view. All I can see are the crowds, watching me as I shuffle towards my death. Please, for the love of God, someone, anyone, do something! I am innocent, innocent!
Not guilty!
I stop. Or, more precisely, the guard stops me. I am so lost, so consumed by fear, that I would have walked right off the edge of the platform, had he not been there to guide me. I can feel the uneasiness of the section of wood I stand on—the drop-platform—and I know that there will be no miracles for me.
I draw an unsteady breath, choked with a sob. This is not justice! This is not a fair end for me! America, land of freedom and justice, I ask you: why isn't Roberto's true killer standing up here, about to be hanged, instead of me? Where is my justice?
I didn't do it! I am not to blame! I am…
"Not—!"
Not guilty!
I want to scream out the only words in English I can say, the only ones that could save me, and now, the most useless things in the world for me: Not guilty!
My shoes click-click against the wooden steps of the gallows as I walk slowly up the stairs. I think frantically: I could run; I could pretend to faint; I could beg for help; but what good would it do? I would be captured in an instant if I ran, and all these people think I'm guilty; everyone thinks I have done wrong. But I have not!
Not guilty!
The guard leads me over to the center of the platform and guides the noose over my head, around my throat. A quick tug, and it is tight around my neck, scratching against my skin like the bonds on my wrists. I feel panic rising in my throat, more potent than anything else I have ever felt. I want to struggle, to lash out, to run and escape. I don't want to die! I have done nothing wrong! I did not kill him!
Not guilty!
Now I am moving again, though I am walking blind; my tears obscure my view. All I can see are the crowds, watching me as I shuffle towards my death. Please, for the love of God, someone, anyone, do something! I am innocent, innocent!
Not guilty!
I stop. Or, more precisely, the guard stops me. I am so lost, so consumed by fear, that I would have walked right off the edge of the platform, had he not been there to guide me. I can feel the uneasiness of the section of wood I stand on—the drop-platform—and I know that there will be no miracles for me.
I draw an unsteady breath, choked with a sob. This is not justice! This is not a fair end for me! America, land of freedom and justice, I ask you: why isn't Roberto's true killer standing up here, about to be hanged, instead of me? Where is my justice?
I didn't do it! I am not to blame! I am…
"Not—!"
~End