by J E Moore
intention of escaping the country and therefore should be tried separately. He conferred individually on the side with her saying, "In your case we'll plead guilty and beg for the mercy of the court to have your sentence commuted to life imprisonment in a state labor colony." He whispered, "You're young and pretty. Even after you're 'true blacked' you could survive... if you used your resources," giving her a sly wink. "It's a hard life out there, even for the guards. They have needs too."
"Resources? Needs?" she repeated. "You mean prostitute myself to the White guards? Never! I'll..."
"Can it, you worthless Negro bitch," cutting her off. "I'm doing you a big favor here. We all sell ourselves in one way or another. Get used to it. At least, you'd be alive."
"Request denied, counselor," returned the magistrate, making it a moot point. "All charged are found guilty of sedition and treason. The sentence of death is to be carried out two days hence at State Prison number Six."
The entire proceeding took ten minutes. Justice was swift in the Confederate States of America. The public defender nonchalantly accepted the verdict but stated he would file an appeal on Christine's behalf.
The magistrate nodded. "So noted," and granted a one day extension for the appellate court's review. The other convicted defendants were to be executed on schedule.
'Bang'! Sounded the gavel. "Next case!"
Christine rode alone in a prison transport bus which had 'Sanitation Department' painted on both sides.
To no surprise, her appeal had been rejected. Her friends had been taken yesterday and they were to be executed today. Perhaps they were dead already. Gazing numbly out the window at the thousands of unmarked graves lining the desolate, two-lane asphalt highway she thought, "Must be White graves. I heard the Blacks get euthanized, like cats and dogs, then nuked to ashes and buried in a land fill."
Her 'last meal' consisting of chitlins, collards and black-eyed peas with watermelon for dessert tasted like leftovers from the day before ... or heated-up, uneaten food from earlier tonight? Christine sat on the edge of the cot; her head hung low in despair as she balanced the aluminum food tray.
"What's the matter, Cutie? Ain't gots no appetite?" razed one of the guards.
"Maybe she's peeved 'cause we're outta catfish," chimed in a second.
"Well, ain't that a crime!" howled the first. "Tell you what, Honey come back tomorrow. We'll have the cook rustle you up a bucket of southern fried chicken!" They both roared.
The lights dimmed for the third time that evening. Testing? The cell door creaked open; the grinning 'Sanitation' guards pranced in, grabbed Christine under the armpits and yanked her to her feet. "Dead man walking," one called out.
The other jeered. "Woman, fool. Dead woman walking."
"Huh? Oh, yeah. But I got the dead part right and that's what counts!" bantered his comrade. Hell fire, no harm intended. They just good ole boys doin' what's right and working hard for the C.S.of A.
A solemn, hooded padre with a bible in hand materialized and silently fell in behind the three-some. Christine, draped in heavy chains, shuffled past countless empty cells - all were marked with the number '13'. Dank mist oozed from every wall, cascading down onto the cold cement floor creating a surreal carpet. A mangy, black cat with bright yellow eyes darted into the passageway; 'hissed' then disappeared into a side cell. One guard threw salt over his shoulder another knocked on wood. Dragging chains... Christine spied a Halloween pumpkin - its flickering orange flame eyes mocked her. A sadistic joke? Dragging chains... A raven silhouetted by an evil, quarter moon, cawed atop the prison's outside wall. The long, long, narrow corridor was bathed in eerie shades of gray - there was no color anywhere, save for a single red light bulb over an ancient oaken door at the end of the tunnel. Dragging... dragging. She could hardly lift her legs; the chains were so heavy. It took Christine hours to get there... so she thought. It was only a few minutes.
The procession came to a halt. The massive wooden door creaked open, unaided. Inside the execution chamber, centered under a cone of sterile light, sat 'Old Sparky'. The Electric Chair. Every state had at least one. Texas had three: two for 'doubles' and one for a back-up.
Grotesque, oversized, blacken hickory... blackened from fire? Scorched human bodies? Black folk's bodies? Thick leather straps dangled. A cap resembling an 1890's football helmet hung hooked atop one of the chair-back knobs. The knobs were carved gargoyle heads. The chair's feet were animal claws.
A doctor in a pure white uniform wearing a gleaming stainless steel stethoscope stood off to one side. The stone-faced prison warden stood on the other. Three zipper-closed plastic body bags lie stacked behind the chair against the wall. The three earlier dimmed lights? A forth bag lie open, waiting at the foot of 'Old Sparky'.
To her right, in the 'official witnesses' viewing room, sat a dozen of those who used to be her best friends in high school. They seemed anxious... no, eager. Eager to see Christine die. She was the bitch who had tricked them into thinking she was a White. Burn you conniving bitch. Burn!
Christine was in semi-shock , this couldn't be happening! And yet, it had to be. She was going to be fried alive. And, the whole world wanted it... wanted it bad and couldn't be happier! Burn, Black bitch, burn!
Strong arms strapped her into place. They deliberately didn't wet her head, which prevented optimum current flow. Grinning guards fastened the electrifying helmet and then retreated into the darkness. The witnesses had elected to leave her un-hooded so they could see her eyes bulge and melt. Christine, the she-devil, who had dared to deceive them!
She waited, sweating drops of blood. 'Tick, tick, tick'. Her eyes flashed to the giant floor to ceiling clock directly in front of her. 'Tick, tick, tick'. The hands, shaped like dueling sabers, sped toward midnight. 'Tick, tick, tick'. Oh, no! It was 11:59! The warden grasped the switch handle which would send two million volts coursing through her young body. She'd be fried like a pork rind.
Gleeful anticipation: the witnesses had her mouth gag removed. They had placed bets of how far her tongue would fly when she bit it in half. Quite sporting of them.
Ten seconds... nine, eight, seven, the warden, enjoying every moment, leered back at her and gave a thumb's up.
'Ring, ring'! The governor's Red Phone was ringing! A last minute pardon?
The warden turned his head in slow motion away from her and glanced at the jangling instrument. Six, five, four.
'Ring, ring'! He turned back - their eyes met again: hers were filled with stark terror, his with absolute delight.
Cotton-mouthed, Christine rasped, "The phone. Please, the phone."
Three. He leisurely pulled the switch downward. 'Ring.'
Two. A crinkle of delight creased the corner of his glowing amber eyes. His pointed, devil's tail swished beneath one pant leg.
One. Down, down the switch came, 'Ring'!
Christine screamed - a soundless, desperate shriek.
'Rinnnng'!
Contact. 'ZAP'!!!
"Momma, I can't get Martin awake. He's sleeping like a dead man. I swear his alarm clock's been ringing for five minutes 'fore I came in here. I cain't mess with him no more, I gotta get ready for school," lamented his older sister.
"You get along, Christine. I'll raise up the boy now. Thank you for trying, Sugar."
"Martin, Martin! Time to get up, honey-child," gently prodded his mother, Alberta Williams King. "A glorious new day has begun."
'ZAP'!!! - - - from the dream
The young, to be, Doctor Martin Luther King Junior, cracked open his sleepy eyes. The night's images began evaporating from his mind, fading yet still remembered. "Momma..."
Yes, child," hugged his mother. "Did you have a nightmare?"
"Kinda." Then, he spoke for the first time what many historians have deemed to be a close version of his most famous words. A phrase this future great leader would use often in shaping a nation. He said, "I had a dream."
"A dream, child?"
"Yes, Momma. I had a dream... a ter
rible dream. The world was filled with hate and slavery. It was awful how badly people treated each other. But it also showed me that when I become a man I must work hard to help people overcome this prejudice. We must learn to love one another. Black and white... people of all color! Maybe, then when I sleep I'll have a 'good' dream.
His mother smiled. "Martin, you are wise beyond your age. Now, listen to what I have to say about your vision. There are two valuable lessons here to be learned. Number one: good can come from bad... meaning, sometimes a dream can show you the path to go from bad to good. You must try to interpret what you see and learn its message. Learn the way. Do you understand?"
"I think so."
"Good, this will become clearer as you grow older. The second lesson and the most important is love is the tool which will enable you to make the journey. Love will be your staff, your strength. You will need it, need it sorely, for the road will be very hard. But remember, no matter how difficult it may become if you stand strong, keep the faith and let God be your guide you can travel this path. One day you will have the dream we all want. And you will make the world a better place for all people."
"Yes, Momma. I won't forget."
The beginning...
X 2 4 1 B
National Cerebral Research Center
"Where am I?" wondered Nick Anderson. He blinked several times attempting to adjust his vision but his eye lid movement felt slow as if he were waking up from another one of his famous