2018-08-23 13:01 fiction flash-fiction elixir Benjamin Brood

The Konvict

The Kommandant's orders were clear — deliver the Konvict to the place of his sentencing. The Konvict is allowed five measures of reflection. The Konvict is allowed three consecutive logical statements. The Konvict is allowed a private moment of pleasure. They didn't need to pull or push the Konvict, he quite amiably traveled with them. If asked, the Kommandant would honestly say the Konvict was solely responsible for keeping the morale up in the guards during those particularly trying landscapes. The Konvict was, for all intents and purposes, one of the men. The bond of that brotherhood was resolute. As they came closer to their destination, the final moments for the Konvict, the guards were plagued by a sense of disbelief. How could they throw their brother into that chasm? How could they watch him burn away into nothingness? There was a muttering. The Kommandant drove them on, towards the top of the mountain. The Konvict cheerily drew the guards along with him. The Kommandant marveled at the Konvict's composure in the face of certain death. It was nothing less than inspirational. When they reached the precipice, the strong vapors from the burning crater almost overwhelmed them, and the Kommandant, with encouragement from the Konvict, stood tall and certain. He read out the final sentence in the official manner. Then the guards grabbed the Kommandant and threw him over the edge.