To the edge

Do we get the dreams, nightmares really, we deserve?

For minor traffic offences, I and two other males, found ourselves condemned to death. The note informing me suggested - very obliquely - death would be by shooting. Something about the wording faintly hinted, to me if not to the others, that this was not to be taken seriously.

We were herded into a narrow corridor painted dark green. A piece of paper carrying an X was stuck to the side-wall at about chest height. This was puzzling since there was insufficient width for two people to stand facing each other across the corridor. Also the victim would obscure the X. Also the wall was un-pocked by bullet holes.

We were told that a laser would be employed and that we would be required to stare fixedly at the X. This would have involved crouching slightly which has only just occurred to me.

The two other males were keen to get death over with. I moved out of the corridor, trying to convince myself that nothing harmful would happen. After a few seconds I was allowed back and saw the first male on the floor his legs (corduroy trousers, deep-patterned rubber shoe soles) curled. This was a horrible shock to me.

My attention was briefly distracted. When I looked again the first male was sitting up, tears streaming, gibbering incoherently. I was told in a matter-of-fact voice that the punishment was demonstrably not fatal, but I would have to undergo it. Since the "officials" consisted of a male teenager and a young woman I refused.

The clarity, even four hours later, was and is persuasive. Certain details (dark green corridor, the shoe soles, perhaps the X) belong to my past life. The nightmare seemed tailor-made. Hmmm.