Signing the Warrant

Sploot.

I could imagine the sound of the ink drop staining that specific spot on the surface.

My pen guided the ink flow into a coherent formation of words and that mark which is so uniquely mine.

The mark which signified my acknowledgement

The mark that signified my approval of what will happen.

Why, Sally is going to be executed.

Along with all of her collaborators.

They wanted to take part in a mission like that,

They knew this would happen.

It was their risk,

Yet,

I was the one who languished over it.

Either with my soldiers lining them up and firing at them

Or with a noose around their necks.

Is this how our relationship will end?

How did our innocent meeting at that concert hall lead to this?

How our conversation about Chopin’s Nocturnes will lead to something beyond my imagination.

Our dinners together, our chit chats at night…

Why didn’t you take the chance and shoot me, Sally?

Isn’t this the mission you were given?

Who are you, really?

Now that I have found out who and what you actually are,

I wonder,

Who was the Sally that I loved,

And who was the real Sally?

Was our relationship ever real?

Under this murky, dirty conflict that arch over our worlds.