There will be no other day. No final battle of their lives, no fight for freedom because that has already passed; only she didn’t quite know it. She knows it now, feels it in every bone, vein and fibre of her body, of her being. No one will perform some miraculous rescue, nor will the people of the Government decide to let her live or that she is perfect to banish. She will die and when she does, it will be because fire spreads along her body, eating her, fire commanded to do so by the Commander, his sister, Asha. She will ask to have fire blasted at her straight away instead for a slowly burning bonfire, she thinks and she knows deep down that she will. She still feels a part of the people and that is how the people are executed. The Government has no time for slow burnings when many need to die. She will die a part of the people. A part of her wishes for martyrdom, for remembrance and pride and the chanting of her name. But the time will come and she will stand there, on the plate of stone, alone. As she steps up on it she will expect it to be different than it will be. She will expect colours to shine differently and she will think the roaring and mumbling of the crowd should be dampened and soft. She would have expected herself to be numb. She won’t be. So she will hold her head high and she will be forced down on her knees, trying to find His face in the crowd. And she will and it will be turned away, refusing to watch the death of her, of his loved one. She will call him a coward in her mind and she will meet others’ eyes, full with hate, disgust and simple understanding. No one shows support. Then she will shout:
“Freedom. Freedom.
“Freedom!”
Then it will be done.
tjugoåttonde september tvåtusentio
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