I wasn’t there to photograph the execution, I was the one about to lose his head.
Bound, trembling, knees buckling, I stared out at the jeering crowd and screamed.
Not for mercy — that was long gone — but for the sheer absurdity of it all.
Not for mercy — that was long gone — but for the sheer absurdity of it all.
I, who had slipped through time and revolution, now reduced to a spectacle.
A man from the future, sentenced by the past.