The Line Of Demarcation

What the king and I did is absolutely disgusting.

I am ashamed to even think about it.

What we did is unforgiveable, utterly unredeemable.

Yet he will be forgiven because he is the king, while I will be condemned to hell because I am not.

Is there no justice in this world or the next?  We are both equally guilty, equally morbid, equally sinful yet he shall enter the pearly gates of paradise while I will descend into the bowels of hell.

Yes, I am guilty.

Yes, I could have refused.

But he is the king -- my king!  How could I dare refuse him?

The hour approaches, the guillotine is prepared -- snicker-snack, snicker-snack.

How long will I live after my head is separated from my body?  How long will I be…”I”?

Will I remember?

Will I know who I am?  That I am dying?

Will I know why?

Or will I be like a new born babe, unaware of its prior existence?

© Buzz Dixon