the firing squad

my eyes hurt from studying all night and the morning light is damaging their already precarious state and my brain and body are fighting a losing war with eachother—
i know what is coming and draw it out by walking as slowly as possible to the office at the end of the hall. more fortunate prisoners are taunting from behind the lab benches
'dead man walkin dead man walkin'
my professors invite me to have a seat. each takes a sip of coffee and exchanges a glance with the other. my evaluations from the last two semesters are spread out on the table. the first glances over the pages.
these are poor, she says, and demands explanation.

there is uncomfortable silence as many things i tried to bury come rising up in my chest like worms after the first long rain. i only wish i could cast off the weight of my many mistakes like they were ugly old clothes; but nothing i can say will save me now from my goddamn foolish youth…
i think this. my mouth stays uncharacteristically silent.
a blindfold is provided and they load their rifles, reassuring me that they are only trying to do me the favor of saving me the trouble of wasting my time applying to medical school.
the oldest one catches my eyes with their purple circles like one too many bar fights. last fall, what the hell happened, what were you thinking? i tell her i dont have the heart to tell her ( i was weighted with darkness, pressed with the cruel hands of god and men and poverty. i stay silent and )

she smiles the weak smile of the executioner after the last appeal is denied. my stomach churns its last meal of ahab's revenge coffee and stale cheerios with no milk cause i aint had groceries in two weeks.
they stand me up and line me against the mark, clemency maybe if i grovel but i am too proud
and it is too late and my paper-thin bones are already beginning to float out the window, rising up into the clouds bright with the sun, away from the objectivity and vivisection, the captivity and microscopes...