Dignity and Something Deeper
Disclaimer: I do not own Roxie or anything else to do with Chicago.
Author's note: Another one-shot Anyway, I'm looking for a beta-reader, since all of my fics are proofread by yours truly. If you're interested.
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"You're a phoney celebrity. A flash in the pan. In a few weeks, no-one's going to give a shit about you. That's Chicago."
I watch Billy don his hat and walk out of the room. Fury boils up inside me. What a moron! He doesn't know what he's talking about. I ain't paying him five thousand dollars to be shoved into the shadow! Giving the ugly black dress a final loathing glance, I storm out of the room. Angry thoughts swirl through my head.
It's strange. I never used to be one to play the diva, but it's all that's on my mind now. Living a humdrum life was never my thing. Like a wild cat caught in a trap, something had always been longing to be let out. Always searching for an outlet. But now … I've been set free. And something, not something one can really define, but something has finally surfaced. Before Fred, hell, even before Amos came along I don't think I was ever really me. Did it really take murder to unleash Roxie Hart? Apparently so. Nobody walks over me now.
But Billy – the last one to crack. I thought after Velma, he'd be easy. But it's not so. How can anyone be so cool and collected? God, it pisses me off. Maybe it was a rash thing to fire him, but seriously – everyone loves Roxie Hart. Hell will freeze over before they hang me. Forty seven years and no women have swung in Illinois. Hello? The odds are so in our favour it's ridiculous. It's called logic. Can't wait to shove that in his face after I'm free.
Slightly mollified I begin heading towards Murderesses' Row. I can feel the smug smile playing with my lips. But then I hear it.
"NO! No, no, no! Not guilty!"
My head snaps around. I know that voice. The one that cries in the night and babbles in Hungarian the rest of the time. Curious. I turn to the nearest woman.
"What happened?"
"It's the Hunyak," says Velma, turning around. "She lost her last appeal."
"So what does that mean?"
Velma looks at me like I'm retarded. "Well, that means next week, she gonna –"
The implication is not lost on me. I look up and see the Hunyak walking along above us, Mama at her side. She's going to die. The thought runs through my mind, but doesn't really register. I don't know what to think.
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I'm sitting in my cell. Looking down. I can't see the gallows, but I can imagine. Snow falls through the dodgy window fitting and lands on my hand. I blink a few times, hardly taking in what's going on a few yards away. I can tell myself in my head, even out loud, but I can't quite believe it. Last night I lay awake, listening to her sob. Should any human be allowed to suffer like that?
My gaze rests on the floor. It doesn't seem fair! How can they just go and kill her? True, we weren't close, and I still don't know her story – but now nobody will. Was she telling the truth as she cried – "Uh-uh! Not guilty!"? It'll all be lost. Why? Why is this happening?
All the world's a stage, they say. And all the men and women merely players … What does that mean? In my head, I transform the scene below into something more spectacular. I see her climb. Higher and higher … is she wearing the confident façade now? The rope tightens … I don't know how I know it's going on, but I can feel it somehow. And her cries come floating up to me. But then they stop. Suddenly, she falls … she won't rise again. Ever.
I'm numb. Blank. Wheels against the snow carrying her body. What happens now? Again I watch. It's nothing like the glorious show they make it out to be. It's cold. Cruel. And chillingly real. It's haunting me. It will be the last I see of her. My head falls into my hands. And then it hits me. I sit up straight. Terror pulses through my body.
It could be me.
Could it? I weakly reassure myself – nobody will execute the Roxie Hart … will they? Maybe … Countless thoughts tumble around my mind … I killed someone … is it true that what goes around comes around? Holy shit. My breathing is ragged. Don't know where to look, what to do … I can't pretend it's not happening. I feel nothing … just raw terror. I'm scared of the unknown … no diva can crack reality.
Billy – I'm about to call him when I remember – I fired him. Well, ask him back! says a small voice somewhere in the back of my mind. No, a louder voice says. Dignity is priceless. Something I can't afford to lose. I sit back down. The small voice grows. What price do I place on dignity? Pride is foolish – can one afford to be so proud one cannot hear reason? I squeeze my eyes shut tightly. Reason is meaningless, I argue back. I'll die before I sacrifice dignity!
The last thought hits me hard. Did I say that? It's truer than I thought. How much can one sacrifice in the name of dignity? Am I too proud to save myself? A flashback springs to mind … it could be me swinging. The sting of being humbled – how does it compare with the tug of the noose? But one can recover from humility. Can one come back after death?
Reality is harsh. It hits you harder than anything. And in a moment of clarity, it speaks the truth.