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