A short, sharp knock, the sound I’ve been expecting - and dreading - for months now.
A guard thrusts open the door, not waiting for my reply. “You have an hour to prepare.”
My goodbyes have already been said. If God has rejected my earlier pleas, all I can do now is accept His decision. I pick up my pen. So many ideas, so many observations jostling to escape before darkness erases them. Their loss seems sadder even than my own. Which shall I save? My pen wavers in midair.
Another knock, and the guards come in. How brief an hour is!