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The Last Minutes
By: Noely G

The ground was soft beneath his feet. Soft and wet. The stench of the place made it clear that they were walking through a swamp, but the blindfold over his eyes made any confident assessment impossible.

“Keep moving” his killer said firmly and the condemned man felt the cold, hard metal of a pistol on the skin of his neck. The condemned man felt bitter about the place in which he was about to die. He could not even savour his last few earthly sensations, and such sensations from their current environment only added to the reality of his impending death. The stench of his decaying body would hardly alter the smell of this place at all. The terror in him grew. It was not death he was scared of though, well, not the physical aspects of it anyway. He knew his death would be quick, his killer was a professional, and he would doubt that such a man would take any particular pleasure in killing him slowly. No, what terrified him was the lack of his consciousness, the lack of feeling. He would never again feel himself inside of a woman, taste the moist delight of a pair of lips, lay on a patch of grass somewhere in the shade of a tree with a cool breeze blowing or experience a multitude of other sensory and emotive delights.

He did not have any regrets. He had lived his life, gambled with it for the sake of excitement itself, and lost. He had found absolute contentment in the arms of a lover, and found absolute, momentary truth in his love for another. He had pondered the great questions that man had asked, experienced the dizzying delights of intellectual discovery, and tasted the bitter sweet victory over his opponents, who dwelt both inside and out. He was young, but not too young to truly regret the paths that he did follow and he was old, old enough to sample a good portion of what life had to offer. Perhaps importantly, he was young enough that he had not witnessed the overt signs of the slow decay of life within him.

The ground was becoming softer and the stench was increasing. He knew that they were nearing the place where his body would join the more innate forms of matter on the earth. He doubted whether anyone would find his remains, this place was too horrible for the casual wanderer to wander on by. His killer had chosen the place well. Suddenly, the condemned man felt the urgent need to converse, to experience his last interaction with another person.

“Are you happy?” the condemned man asked. The killer did not respond.

“Please, I need this”. Still no response. The condemned man stumbled and fell face first into the quagmire. A strong hand gripped his upper arm and pulled him up, while the condemned man spluttered and heaved.

“Not at the moment, in this place”, the killer responded finally, perhaps out of pity for the now filthy and trembling man. “Me neither” said the condemned man in a weak attempt at humour. The killer did not laugh. Still, the condemned man felt slightly better, the simple act of conversing gave him comfort.

“Do you feel you have lived well?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” the killer responded.

“Well, do you feel that if our roles were now swapped, that you would be happy with how your life had turned out?”

A moment’s silence. “Perhaps, it’s difficult to know. Do you feel you have lived well?”

“Yes, I’m quite sure I do. One day I decided that I wanted to know the full range of possible experiences, and I wanted to experience each of these respective moments fully. I have suffered terribly, but I have also rejoiced. I have felt pure hate and pure love, fear, ecstasy and the full, warm feeling of contentment. It seems that perhaps the only feeling I hadn’t had was that of sheer terror, but I believe that is now accounted for.”

More silence. “You know, you are one of the more interesting jobs I’ve had. But I must ask why is it that you feel terror when you are happy with the way you have lived?”

“I believe that is the irrational, emotive part of myself showing, which I suppose is only natural considering what is about to happen. My rational part, if you’ll allow me to split myself up so succinctly, is more at peace with the situation. It is necessary to recognise, control and use the emotive part, because that is where the most precious experiences come from. It is the rational part that allows you to access what these most precious experiences are.”

The condemned man fell again, but this time the killer did not help him up.

“So this is the place then?” The condemned man asked.

“Yes it is” the killer responded.

“May I ask you one last thing?”

“What is it?”

“Could you remove my blindfold?”

The killer bent down next to him, and the condemned man could hear him breathing heavily. He removed the blindfold. The scene that surrounded him was as he suspected; a dark, fetid marshland. Nevertheless, he found beauty in the vision and his eyes filled with tears.

“Thank you” he said weakly to the killer as he wept.

The killer’s cold, light blue eyes looked unsteady. He stepped behind the man he was about to kill, and pressed with a shaking hand the dark, black pistol to the back of his head. The condemned man lifted his head and gazed at the surrounding trees and remembered his exceptional moments. He drew his last breath.

“Goodbye” he said.

“Goodbye” the killer responded quietly.

The sound of the shot echoed through the swamp.

Article Source: http://journal.ilovephilosophy.com

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