Pull her close, then slam her head against the concrete mound. Smash skin and bone and blood into your drive. Feel the bloody matter that once belonged to a whole being. A mother, a wife, a woman. A lover, a sinner, your assassin. Clear the pungent smell of de-oxidized blood with a lit matchstick. Find an unstained portion of silky feminine hair to wipe your hands. Make your phone call.
“Jeremy, it’s finished.”
“We love you, Samuel.”
Healing was what you brought to your society. This quiet night is the direct result of your revolution – your assault on the immortal godfathers and their feeble front-men; your ruthless justice on those who craved carnal pleasure with bludgeoned minors; your campaign to replace crassness and dissent with integrity and decency as the most desirable values. At first, you were called juvenile, naive and small-minded for your efforts; but time has been gracious enough to show how these vices were true only for the accusers. The accusers-turned-disciples who surround you now, their minds mildly developed, their sights still short.
“Are you sure she’s dead?”
“Unless you think she can survive without a brain, she’s dead.”
“Thank you, Samuel. She was the last one.”
Your sin was that you were righteous, and your salvation was to be made complete in your death. The bounty was placed on your head when your label evolved from naive to radical. Your ideas evinced the desires of the masses and the accusers, but not the sinners. This was the problem. After clearing their streets of thieves, feeding their children, clothing their women, and giving their men an unyielding will to live right; the sinners remained the ungrateful class and rightly so – you rendered them irrelevant. They sought to remedy this, and their tool was your sin for it was the tool they were most familiar with.
“I’m sorry it had to be this way, Samuel.”
“Please, don’t say more.”
The sinners were the lovers, and society was the acceptable framework for mass passion. School was simplified into orgy sessions because education was expressed in how well you could manipulate the sex hormones of another. Endurance was only thought of in terms related to erotic stimulation; and family units were illegal because they showed love naturally only to those in the family, and copulation only between the husband and the wife. Marriage was an expression of selfishness and anyone who used the word, “Father”, was an anarchist who would be executed. The lovers believed in equality and peace, and what better way to have equality, than to provide everyone with equal rations of love, food, heat, and happiness? Also, what better way to have peace, than to keep every citizen constantly engaged in coitus? You called it madness. You were right, but you weren’t without sin.
“For how long did you know?”
“I found out two nights ago, when she pleaded with me to hate her.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t understand.”
Your sin was that you were righteous. You loved righteously. You loved a woman, one woman, and that was punishable by death. She wasn’t just any woman, she was a woman who shared your ideas and surpassed you in charm and intellect. She was a woman who embodied chastity and sensuality in perfect symmetry. You didn’t care that she was a sinner. She was the defining catalyst in your decision to rebel, and after your revolution, you made her your wife because she loved you as well. But the love you shared was stronger than you both thought and it is for this reason she sought to preserve your revolution.
“Her name was Sophia.”
“Samuel, do you still love her?”
“Then we will have to kill you.”
For the sinners, to love was to sin. You could not rid them without hating them, and if you loved any of them, they would thrive on your love no matter how innocent. Sophia, (of course being of a higher intellect) soon realized that your revolution would become undone as long as you loved her – a sinner. She refused to allow the righteous love you both shared be used as the ultimate weapon against you. All the lives that you had saved would be thrown back into a more severe culture of depravity and torture. The sinners would return in even greater force because of the intensity of your love for her. By the nature of your love, she became your assassin, your undoing. The final solution was needed and Sophia, tonight, commanded you to end her life in the most gruesome way. But she miscalculated. An act of hate is not always in itself, hate. Sometimes, it is proof of the strongest kind of love.
“Sophia was right.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was right when she said you were the solution. You are the solution. You’ve always been, Samuel, just not in the way you and Sophia thought.”
“I started this revolution. I saved these lives. The revolution must end with me, Jeremy.”
“You’re right, friend. It has. This is the only way you come out the victor.”
Your friend, a former accuser, has the right equation, with your sin as the solution. He will now end your life and your love for the sinner, and by extension, rid the society of the lovers in all their variety. Your sin, your righteousness and your love, is what has saved your people.
“Now, it is finished.”
“We love you, Samuel.”