By Michael Sixto
I found a gun on the street and I felt like killing something, so I did. Later on the police arrived and charged me with murder. Why murder? – I asked- you have the right to remain silence- they said.
Truth is that I am not completely innocent. I wanted to kill that thing, even though the thing was long time death. The gun was beautiful and shiny and cold. The gun had a purpose, a motive, a secret life of its own. I was just the instrument and the thing knew it right. A few months after, the jury decided that I deserved the capital punishment, so they did. They executed me on a Sunday at 12:00 noon. For two whole minutes they waited until it was the exact right time while I remain tied to the chair. “Time of the death: 12:11.”
I did not see a tunnel of light or angels welcoming me. I did not see the devil either. What I saw, and I couldn’t believe it at first, was the thing. Standing there it had a smile on its face. How was the trip- it asked- I don’t know- I replied. Good- it said- Good.
I found a gun on the street and I felt like killing something, so I did.