The Execution

by Amos Vogel

As expected, the juggler had failed to recant. There was firmness on both sides. His views were well-known as was his determination. Those in power were equally adamant.

Thousand of people – the used up ones and their children – watched from below with fieldglasses, as he was gently pushed from the airplane circling far overhead, toward the vertical rope dangling free in space nearby.

His face turned slightly toward the sun, smiling gently, he wrapped his body around the rope, leaving both hands free to juggle, as always, his three balls; and began falling instantaneously.

For a few moments, he continued his juggling while falling. Then he was inexorably separated from the rope – by wind? by gravity? – separated as well from the instruments of his profession and belief, and began his free fall in a sinuous, elegant curve, his face serene, his freedom complete.

The fieldglasses and cameras kept him in view until his body suddenly caught fire, a brilliant mass of orange. His background changed from blue sky to tenements; then the plume of fire hit the ground next to a pyre of dry wood that could have ignited on impact. There was no sound. His dearest friend, nearby, walked toward him, calmly, to meet his body on re-entry. He knew that there had been no other way of living than by dying.

Dreamworks, Vol.1, No. 1, 1984-85