Messiahs by Marc Anthony Richardson

Author:Marc Anthony Richardson
Format: epub

Most of the families of the victims who had allowed the proxy option were headed by a female, and if it wasn’t for the man, every one of the proxies who came forth would’ve been female as well, for the daughter of the murdered white minister had allowed the mother of the murderer to come forth first—though the daughter had always been against it, this pursuance of the capital sentence. The state was not acting on her behalf. It was election year and the politics of the prosecutor (who has since become the city district attorney), the locale of the crime (a county fanatical for lex talionis), and the class and the race of the two parties involved (a white working-class victim and a poor black perpetrator) had all demanded the pursuance of the capital sentence; but after the sentencing hearing, visibly distraught, the daughter of the murdered white minister had admitted to the media that she was not so sure that the defendant was even guilty, and had been inclined to believe in his mental deficiency, which had been unrecognized by the judge, and could not stand the state putting anyone, let alone someone like this, to death, a man-child; and she was so shamefully and dreadfully conflicted that in direct opposition to her pacifist’s belief and to the prosecutor’s intent—who, despite being an implacable representative of the local government, had still been legally obligated to present to her a rightful alternative—while still mourning the recent death of her father, as an unthinkable kindness she had allowed the proxy option after looking into the wretched face of the mother of the man-child in question, who had asked to take it that day in court. No, the brother said to the sister—the younger of the two, right after the sentencing hearing, for the sister would’ve had the whole week to be sure—that boy will die if you do. That boy will die if I don’t. I’ll take it. No, she said. I’m how, he said, but you get me out. I have faith you’ll get me out. For they both knew that that man-child in question—given the recent incident in the county jail complex—was not strong enough to survive another month locked up alone let alone on the row and for the years and years or decades it could take for him to simply see the end of his appeals—not many men are—yet, though the younger brother of the man-child’s mother had already made up his mind, prepped himself for this feared result, as part of the procedure he still had a whole week and the week went very slowly, surreally, for after the sentencing hearing, after visiting the man-child who was still being detained in the county jail complex, after settling some affairs and saying a few farewells, the rest of his week was spent sitting in a seaside inn or in a lighthouse over two hundred miles away or swimming in the ocean—for the need to be alone

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