Not in Vain

They line us up, our hands chained behind our backs. The guards refuse to look us in the eyes. The other prisoners refuse to look up. We're all pretending that today's just another day, that this change in our strict routine is normal. 

"Weather's nice today, isn't it?" Tomas, my friend, asks from beside me. My eyes sting as I nod. It's been weeks since I'd seen the sun. But maybe they won't pick me today, and I'll get to see the sun again. At least one more time. The crowd before the dais murmurs at Tomas's nonchalant tone. They know what's happening here, too. But the first group to die set a precedent that the rest of us intend to follow to our graves. 

Don't panic. Show no fear. The Conqu wants to use our fear, our deaths, as an example. We won't let them. So I raise my chin a little higher, and I look at Tomas as I answer him.

"Yes, it's beautiful today."

"It'd be the perfect day for a picnic." Kara, another prisoner, replies. It's just small talk, but it's better than screaming. Or crying. Better than letting the Conqu win.

"Man, I'd kill for a peanut butter sandwich right now," Tomas groans.

"Peanut butter? I think you mean turkey. A little turkey with some cheese and mayo would be perfect." One of the Conqu, the representative for our area, steps onto the stage and starts telling the gathered crowd about our crimes, pointing at each of us in turn. 

Vandalism. Unauthorized production of birth control. Unauthorized redistribution of wealth. Failing to attend lessons. And my crime, saved for last. Inciting rebellion. Otherwise known as punching a Conqu in the face when they arrested my sister for failing to report her pregnancy. I hadn't seen her since. They wouldn't kill her, at least. She's pregnant. I'm lucky enough not to be. 

The Conqu drones on, telling the crowd how this is going to go, like they haven't seen this before. Like this isn't the seventh execution this year. I tilt my face to the sun, savoring its warmth, as two of the other prisoners make more small talk. A critique of the outfits of the crowd in the front row. An elderly woman with white curls piled high stiffens when Alexi calls her makeup uninspired. 

"Mayo? On a sandwich in this heat? Maia, it'd get all greasy and gross before you'd get to eat it," Tomas says, glancing at me. The fear in his deep brown eyes is a startling contrast to his forced smile. My knees start shaking. 

"My dad always said the best sandwich was a messy one. I think I'd put some tomato on it too," I say, forcing my tone to be lighthearted. The Conqu stops talking, and stalks down our line, inspecting us. His crisp black suit doesn't have a single wrinkle. 

"Tomatoes are way too slimy. I never could force one down." Kara says, shuddering as the Conqu passes in front of her. 

"I'd eat one like an apple right now." I turn to her to avoid meeting the Conqu's uncaring gaze. "They're delicious." 

The Conqu points to his first victim. Amara. They arrested her because she gave a few bucks to a homeless guy on the street. She said the man had been nearly skeletal. Her kindness continued during her imprisonment. I'd only had a blanket because she'd given me hers. The guards drag her forward, forcing her to her knees. She doesn't scream. She doesn't cry. She doesn't beg. In fact, she looks back to us, her green eyes meeting Tomas's brown ones, then my own blue ones.

"You two are right, you know. It's a beautiful day," She says. I swallow down my tears as the Conqu grabs her face and turns it so she's forced to meet his eyes. She's trembling. I am too. 

Amara still doesn't scream as the life drains from her, as she dessicates into a leathery pile of skin and bones. Several people in the crowd do scream, though. The tears that have been stinging my eyes finally spill, but I don't let the sob escape. 

There's a pause in the fashion critique as Amara's corpse slumps to the ground. So I continue the conversation. "Did you see the guy with the wig? If he's going to wear one, he should at least learn how to style it so no one can see the cap, huh?"

"Yeah, for sure. Or he could just pick a wig cap that actually matches his skin tone." Alexi mutters. The Conqu stalks down the line again, choosing his next victim. 

"It's a bit windy. Hopefully, he's got that wig secured." Tomas says. 

"Yeah. I'd hate to have that ratty thing up here." Kara adds. Two different men in the crowd self-consciously lift their hands to their hair, and I wonder if we've been too cruel. They don't have any more choice in this than we do. Then again, they are here to watch our deaths. 

The Conqu stops in front of Matteo. I'd never particularly liked him. If he wanted something from the other prisoners, he'd take it. Matteo was arrested for skipping out on one of the Conqu's sermons about the glory of their conquest, about how proud we should be to be a part of their empire. He'd been home with the flu. He doesn't deserve this. 

"I don't think the wig is that bad, guys. Maybe his scalp is just a little pale." Matteo says as they force him to his knees. The boards of the stage crack with the impact, and he winces, but he doesn't cry out. Not until his body explodes in a column of flames. The heat from it scorches my face. No one says anything until Matteo stops screaming. 

"My bad. Matteo was right. Just a pale scalp. Not a wig cap. Terribly rude of me, huh?" I say. But I'm angry. My friends are dying. And though we've been ignoring this, ignoring reality, it doesn't change what's going on. "It's the Conqu with the nappy hair. I thought they had access to better showers and stuff than we do." The other prisoners freeze, looking at me, horror in their eyes. The Conqu stalks my direction. 

I don't let the guards force me forward or shove me to my knees. I do that on my own. The Conqu's soulless eyes meet mine. 

"You won't always get away with this. One day, we'll rise up, and we'll stop you. Our deaths will not be in vain."

Two years after I died, it turned out I was right.