BLOODY REUNION
CHAPTER 3 ON THE EXECUTION
Girza looked seriously at the object that was in front of him. At first glance, his vision was almost empty, but he was fully concentrated. The point on the wall of the slum created through his hallucination became the focus of his entire attention. It was at that point that he initially observed a spider that had just left after preying on a fly that perched on its web.
He was cursing himself as this fear kept dominating him from yesterday. The same fear as the fly felt when he saw the owner of the nest coming to prey. How can he accomplish a task if fear makes him think a thousand times to cancel, or at least deny, his actions? He also beat himself up when he found himself crying like a child, inside the cell, when the death sentence was handed down to him.
But thankfully he is now inspired.so he is sure now is the right time to start his ritual. Rituals of how to meet the death learned from an archaeologist's book about the Wangamuay tribe in Papua. The ritual did not involve any complicated spells or movements that were difficult to memorize. The trick is simple, sitting still in a cross-legged position while the entire breath is left calm. This led him into a stream of happiness that so reconciled his soul.
Girza is a tall man. His height does not match the posture of a basketball player, but he is taller than an average Indonesian man while his body is like a bull with circular muscles full of bulging bumps that fill his arms. His neck reminds people of Mike Tyson.
No one knew that he had ever used his physical superiority to become a wrestler. It was because he hid it from everyone, including his parents and family. In fact, he had used it, as a teenager, as an amateur wrestler in an illegal arena that is often used as a gambling commodity. Two seasons in a row he became the idol of the bastards for giving away a lot of green sheets from the results of his live-in fight bets. A proud achievement, but Girza chose not to tell it because it was not important.
So large was Girza's body that the cells that surrounded him looked so full to him. The room measuring two by three meters was timidly found itself to be occupied by a man as big as Girza. Even the cold bars of the cells did not look colder than the glint of the man's eyes. He has become familiar with his small cell since these two years, especially during the tough trial.
The cement floor has become a familiar bedmate because it is only there that he gets comfort after attending a grueling debate from people who call themselves smart and civilized for understanding the law. The walls are sloppy calcareous. Aesthetics or beauty is a luxury item in this place. The most important thing is functionality so that the problem is worth it or not it does not need to be messed around.
Cell makers who do not recognize this aesthetic become an example for the occupants of the cell because they also do not treat this place like their own home. Scribbles in various shapes and shapes appear on all four sides of the wall. One of them scribbles dozens of rods on the wall that he finally understood as a scrawl of day counters, either the last days of life like himself, or just entertainment to fill a day filled with loneliness and boredom.
The orange was made from a second-rate iron rod, not too fancy, but effective enough to make anyone locked up unable to get out at will. Although corrosion has made iron bars porous, but in vain if you expect it to slip from the hinges just like that, maybe it will only happen hundreds of years later.
He has sown the wind and at this time he must be ready to reap the storm.The storm is none other than this prison...
He has sown the wind of the soul's release and in return he will reap the storm of the release of his own soul. Everything was going according to the proposition he should and wasn't that what he wanted?
His soul must not linger confined within this body. The soul is restless, while the body is destroyed. As someone who is quite knowledgeable about the limitations of the soul, he wants to release his own soul to be able to achieve the optimal function of the soul as a substance that flows free from mortal limitations. And if he had done his duty he should have been glad for his reward, a storm of thanksgiving and gratitude from the souls he had freed first and now longed to meet the leader…the owner of their souls.
Souls he will meet later. They were her lovers, her fellows, her comrades in arms, and Girza was convinced that she was not alone in her quest as a soul of substance. Only this body of souls understands the whole struggle, no matter when the surroundings revile or curse him as a maniacal killer, these souls are always beside him because only they understand the meaning of everything…
Then let the dog bark.let the world whisper to each other.While this young, passionate couple, he is with this soul, this soul, still have a world where the rest of the people are just ignorant passengers that are not worth thinking about.
Himself and this group of souls.lover…
In other words, he is happy. To the fullest. Without feeling regret. Even his regret sided with his foolishness of not taking up his duties earlier. If only he had realized it five years earlier, there would have been many more souls to help him. Girza rose up in an overflowing joy that was not made up. He was approaching the final stage of the realization of the desire to become an optimal substance, which could break away from the prison of a mortal body.
Nothing else can stop him. This execution helped him. It's destiny. The path that was set for him. A path to embrace the coveted eternity and a complete union with the soul groups that he will lead as an obedient wife and bride. All he needs to do is be a part of it and live it.
“Nothing is in my way. I will be full and optimal,” so said so, he laughed out loud. The tiredness and fatigue that stoned his body disappeared, the fear and anxiety that lingered over his heart evaporated, and his trained body felt the motion of nature understood that beyond the sun had risen to the top of the horizon, and that means it's time for him to get ready.
“It's time,” Girza murmured.
The man approached the slovenly sink that gave off an unpleasant smell from its hole. On top of the saucer lay razors, toothbrushes, toothpicks, soap, and cheap perfumes. The attention of executed inmates is usually more about getting closer to God and not neatness so that cheap equipment is just a formality.
Girza was amused to think about how these prisoners of execution could suddenly become more prayerful as a saint, or try to draw closer to God, before death. Though they have never done that in their entire lives and the death penalty they receive is clearly a consequence of their own crimes. But that's what happened so the prison is more busy looking for righteous people to pray for death row inmates than buying soap and perfume that's better than this.
He took a razor and looked at it. A mischievous thought arose so that he could hide the knife behind the folds of his shirt so that he could escape from this mad prison by stabbing one of the guards who would later escort him. But that's a ridiculous thought. The knife was so large that it was impossible for him to hide without being discovered, another obstacle his prison uniform wore was made in a plain pattern with no pockets or pockets to store the knife if he could pick it up without being caught.
Girza placed the razor against his chin and began to clean the thin hair that grew haphazardly there. Next he took the aftershave, making his entire face not only look slippery but also fragrant, brushing his teeth, and combing his hair. Lastly he sprayed a cheap, pungent-smelling perfume all over the body. If they want this prisoner to appear neat, then there is no harm in giving what they want because they also give what he wants, execution as a way of release…
A little neatness does not matter to him, besides it feels good to be able to look stylish after being buried in this rotten cell for so long. After finishing the tidiness ritual and looking in front of a mirror, Girza felt like a teenager who had just dressed up for his first date. He seemed satisfied with his new appearance. All was exactly what he imagined about her, except for the sickly fragrance from the cheap perfume they gave her.
Unfortunately, at the ninth victim his efforts stopped the weak men of faith. Girza does not know if this means anything but without them knowing it, the number nine is also a crucial number kejawen, also the crucial figure of the life of a cat that makes it a magical invincible creature on the face of this earth. So if he's right with his beliefs, there's a chance he can get away with all of this to continue his mission, which is thirteen victims to eternal life...
Wealth or devotion is not the purpose of life. Both of them were trash when compared to the eternal life he pursued. Eternal life is the perfection of life. Who does not want to live forever? With him, he would not only be able to master matter or science as difficult as anything, but also the opportunity to become a god of a life. Is that not what God feared Adam to have so that He drove the man and his wife out of Eden, so that Adam would not eat another fruit called the fruit of life that is beside the fruit of knowledge?
Amidst the roar of spirit that began to bubble up, the man did not let the doubt turn off his belief. For that he hopes that the number nine does contain a special luck for him. The radio on the sink table plays a tembang, the,
“And if tomorrow's sun will shine again
I want your candle to color my day…
And if tomorrow you don't show up to my friend
Unimaginably half dead to lose you..”.
“You look different today..”.
Girza turned his head and saw that the butchers had come. Three guards stood in front of the man in uniform who was of higher rank. The first warden of a well-built man busted a field in a tight uniform that was neatly ironed. The mustache is always neatly combed so that it rarely deviates an inch from the groove. The second one was a little older than the first with a stocky body and misty-combed hair hidden behind an official hat. While the third youngest among the two, but his stiff face like a boxer shows the hardness of heart that deserves thumbs up.
Girza smiled cynically, it took more than two people to secure him all the way to the execution room. With his stocky and large body Girza was able to take down the guards if fighting one by one, not at once. While behind them was the man who had commented just now, in his mid-forties in a neat uniform and a large mole on his chin and was known to him as Chief Rutan Sunaryo.
“Hust. Isn't this a special day?” Girza responded casually, not forgetting to show off his grin.
“Thank God then,” said Sunaryo.“You sure you don't need a priest, ustadz, or something?”
“No need. I do not belong to any of them,” Girza replied firmly.
The Head Rutan shrugs, “Bring her.”
“Hand ahead,” said the second warden, while his eyes glanced towards the sink. Keep an eye out if the razor isn't in place. But it was still lying there, folded neatly next to the half-living roof. The man sighed in relief then approached Girza who had thrust both his hands forward. The thick warden grabbed the long chain handcuffs from the pouch to tie Girza's arms together. While doing his job, the man said, “You are already a celebrity now, Girza. Many journalists outside who want to interview you.”
“They don't need to do that otherwise want the cover of the magazine decorated with monster pictures,” Girza said.
“Still also can joke?” after being convinced of the strength of the handcuffs, the warden gave a nod to the others and the party stepped into the execution room.
As mentioned in the radio broadcast, three VIPs who were the Very Imbecile Person to Girza, had been present in front of the execution room. Completely have the separation committee even though he feels less without the media. He had hoped that the media could also come in to cover his death sentence so that the whole of Indonesia would see him, but these imbeciles would not be willing to make him a celebrity.
Girza swept the view to the corner of the room defiantly. Not feeling intimidated despite being aware of the many hidden laughter from the gazes of these people. Instead, he was happy. Eager. The man smiled at everyone present, causing everyone to look in wonder at the fearlessness in the condemned man. That smile was a triumphant smile. His smile was a polite gesture that told each of them that he respected each individual and soul.
After the three fierce-looking guards behind him, Girza walked towards the execution ground where seven soldiers were standing with long guns in hand. Girza had heard that only one deadly bullet was given to these executioners to reduce the impact of guilt from killing people intentionally. But even if the seventh was given a deadly bullet, it was not a problem for him. He smiled mockingly, “That's because they were weak. Not worth being an executioner.”
Girza refused as the warden tried to put on a head covering. After shrugging his shoulders, the warden then left and left Girza as he was. He stood on his back against a dull concrete wall. The tanned color he had seen earlier seemed to be the chocolate of the bloodstains of the inmates sentenced to death here.
The seven shooters stood parallel behind the line and raised their respective weapons. A well-built man who seemed to be the leader of the executor raised his hand and said loudly,”Prepare weapons!”
”SHOT!” Firearms are also barking...
