Jacob (llamascout) wrote in indiefiction,

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Public Access Punishment

Wallace killed three people. With a tire iron. It was their tire iron. He was a sick man. Wallace then robbed a bank, giving the world a few more widows and orphans. Wallace eventually got caught after detonating a bus bomb. He was a small time terrorist, sure, but tell that to the suffering parties.

You can tell them that you're sorry, but are you really? Could you possibly understand loss when everything is at your disposal? Can you honestly tell them that you can feel for them when really you're just thinking, "At least it didn't happen to me."

I apologize for the outburst, I'm just angry, I guess. My parents were two of the three people killed with the tire iron. The third was my sister.

I wanted justice. I wanted vengeance. I wanted blood. I wanted to see Wallace suffer.

They caught him, I was happy. Now that bastard will toast for his crimes.

But it wasn't like that. Some rotten lawyers tried to get his charges lowered. They claimed that he was crazy, that he was suffering on the inside, and this is how he told the world. They claimed that he wasn't at fault. They claimed that society was at fault.

I'm part of society. They claimed that I killed my own family. Maybe I should have. At least I wouldn't have used a tire iron. At least I would have made it the least bit painful as possible.

Fortunately, the lawyer was the only individual of "power" that had his head up his ass. The judge gave Wallace the full charge.

The execution day came closer. A public survey went out. "Would you like to see Wallace's execution televised?"

People actually said yes. They probably were the ones who just sat around and watched TV all day. Aliens on channel 29. Cartoons on 13. Soaps on 4. Executions on 42. Watch one, tape the rest.

Oddly, there was a decision made. The execution was televised. I didn't want to watch, but I did.

I got to watch it free, for obvious reasons. Others who were not directly affected had to pay a price.

The sale was phenomenal.

If people would pay to watch large vehicles run over cars, or large mean in leotards "hitting" each other, then of course they'd pay to see a live execution.

This was probably one of the worst mistakes ever made in history.

Widespread fame struck this new "entertainment" genre. Executions started to show up more often between WWF Raw and Monster Truck Rally on Pay Per View. Slowly, the masculine vehicles were weaned out. Slowly the overgrown children slapping each other was weaned out.

The fans wanted more, though. They wanted plot, competition, something. Different companies adopted different methods. One was a reality based series in which the inmates (all convicted murderers) got to vote on which one of them was executed, Survivor style. The winner got a life sentence. Another series had their convicts face a similar punishment as their crime. That got to be excessively gruesome. Those two were probably the most widely watched of the Execution TV Series. One failed series was based primarily on The Running Man.

Eventually, some bigwig at some TV company had a novel idea for a series.

He pressed the executive buttons to get a ETV show resembling the Gladiators of ancient Greece and Rome.

Different criminals got different penalties. Murderers and rapists were left unarmed. Small-time criminals got armor and access to a weapon. The scales of justice determine you chance with fate.

A ticketable offense could be waived by either "community service" (wild animal handler in the Coliseum) or by participating. In the latter instance, they were given two warriors of high battle esteem to aide them in whichever game was selected for that day.

Criminals who survived either got their fines waived, their sentences reduced, or got another shot at living a few more days until the next event.

As the games went on, and criminals survived, they were given armor and weapon upgrades: payoff for their hard work at bloodthirsty survival.

Even non-criminals wanted to participate. Their prize was money.

Kids would watch it, rooting for their heroes: hardened criminals. When one died, they didn't mourn, they just chose another one. They were desensitized to death.

I think a video game was made too, so they could play at home.

It used to be a weekly show. It was such a novel idea, however, that it became a daily show.

And then there's me. Don't ask what I did, because I don't even know. All I know is that I had 10 years to serve. I managed to knock it down to 6 years so far. That was hard work, starting with so little.

I managed to be sneaky and underhanded enough to raise to this level. I sure hope kids don't look up to me.

I have a feeling that all this will end soon. People just can't go on enjoying death like this.

I mean, I don't like what I do, but it's survival.

Of course, I don't really consider myself a human being anymore.

We've all turned into animals.


Today, I'll polish my sword and my armor. After that, I'll get myself psyched for blood. Today's match is a special match. Today is the CEO of the TV company's daughter's birthday. What a lucky girl. She doesn't have to deal with the plebeian affairs. She just gets to sit back and smile.

I have to represent one of her "soldiers" in today's match.

I run out to the Coliseum. People applaud. They chant my name. I do my signature sword swing.

I evaluate the soldiers on my team. We have to defeat some other army. Most of them looked like easy kills. Though, I had a feeling about today.

I face the window of the office of the CEO and raise my hand in a gesture of respect. I mutter to myself, "Those who are about to die salute you."

The match started.
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