All it took was a lie to ruin my life. Tell me why everybody was looking calm when they condemned me to death?
I stood at the center of the courtroom, wearing my father's oversized clothes. It was a pair of baggy trousers and a white shirt with a yellow collar. I was barefoot, with my wrists and ankles chained.
Of course, they considered shoes too dignified for a murderer awaiting sentencing.
'Filthy murderer,' someone yelled at me.
I almost laughed. 'Me, a murderer?' I can't even hurt a fly.
A young man, the victim, died behind a hotel belonging to the Liang family. Victor Liang, their only son, had brutally crushed the young boy's skull against cold cement and left him there to die after a deal gone wrong.
Victor sat at a corner of the courtroom looking like a saint, and why wouldn't he? When your family is so wealthy, and corruption is the order of the day, justice is just another subscription service.
And Victor had opted for the premium 'clean hands' package.
They blamed me so someone else wouldn't face the repercussions, shielding the reputation and prestige of the richest family in town. And it was more advantageous that the person in question was from a dirt-poor family.
"Bring the defendant forward," the judge ordered.
My mother stood up immediately.
"My son is innocent!" she shouted while pointing at me. "He didn't kill anyone! He wasn't even there."
My father held her and tried to calm her down. Though his eyes were swollen and red.
Esme, my kid sister, sat between them with her shoulders shaking in silent sobs. Looking at her caused me pain. She was twelve. She continued to believe the justice system was fair and truthful, hoping it might set me free.
Poor girl.
The defense lawyer, whom we barely afforded by selling my mother's small properties and my father's old tools, sat there looking like a moron. He did not speak. Neither did he spare me even the tiniest glance.
"Alan," the judge read from a paper, "you're charged with the murder of-"
"I didn't kill her," I mumbled.
"The murder of Benedict Morgan," he added, "a remarkably gifted and talented young man."
That was rich. Benedict Morgan's greatest talent was blackmail and manipulation. The town knew him for his dubious character. If "remarkably gifted and talented" meant ruining people's lives for fun, then yes, Benedict had it coming, I thought.
"The prosecution has provided witness testimony, physical evidence, and-"
My mother screamed, "Lies! All of it! This is all part of a calculated plan to indict my son."
She tried to show the judge something, and someone tried to pull her back. She slapped their hand away.
"Order!" the judge shouted in irritation and banged the gavel.
My heart slammed to the bottom of my rib cage. This was unfair.
The real culprit, who was seated a few rows across from me, leaned back into his chair and crossed his legs in a calm, entitled manner.
When my eyes met his, he slowly waved his hands at me while smiling.
The judge turned to my lawyer.
"The defense attorney has reviewed the birth records and has confirmed that the defendant is indeed nineteen years old; therefore, eligible for full sentencing under the law."
My mind snapped. Nineteen?
I was fifteen. Fifteen and four months.
My lawyer shamelessly avoided my eyes as I looked at him. He was visibly sweating and looked scared to death.
"Tell them!" my father roared at our lawyer, slamming his hand against the bench barrier. "Tell them the truth! You have his birth certificate! You saw it with your own eyes!"
Our lawyer inhaled shakily. Then lied.
"My apologies… but after reevaluation, I affirm the defendant is nineteen."
He swallowed. "I stand by my statement."
My mother's scream tore through the courtroom like thunder.
I felt something inside of me shatter. Not because of the lie, but at the way our lawyer's eyes darted nervously toward the Liang family seeking nonverbal approval. Like a lapdog on a leash, awaiting a signal.
They had bought him.
Truth holds no meaning at this point since the Liang family had pocketed it for themselves.
It was over for me.
The judge cleared his throat to deliver his last judgement.
"With all the powerful evidence, reliable witness accounts, and the defense's own admission,"
"Please!" my mother cried. "He didn't do this."
The judge ignored her and continued.
"I hereby sentence the defendant to death by public execution. Sentence is to be carried out within thirty minutes after this judgment."
My little sister collapsed into our father's arm sobbing violently. Mother tried to protest, but the court police stopped her.
At that moment, everything went cold for me. I didn't flinch nor plead. It would not change the judgment even if I tried.
A few minutes later, the court police dragged me out to the open field for my execution. Just before the court police dragged me onto the stage, Victor Liang walked up to me with a pitiful face and placed his hand on my shoulder.
"Tragic," he whispered. "It's tragic when poor people forget their place."
I smiled at him in a way that made his face lose all its color. "Don't worry," I whispered back.
"I'll remember you. And I'll come for you."
Then the police finally dragged me up onto the stage and placed the rope around my neck.
The public had gathered to watch the execution of a criminal, whose act of murder, as defined by the court, stemmed from a conflict involving "killing someone out of hunger for two loaves of bread."
I looked at the horizon, remembering all the things I'd never get to do.
Grow up.
Graduate.
Fall in love.
Prove myself.
And clear my name.
My family never set foot in the place where they will execute me. They couldn't stomach watching their son being killed unjustly for a crime he had never committed.
The executioner checked the noose around my neck. "Any last words?" He asked in sympathy.
"Yes, of course," I said with a laugh, looking up at the people who were all gathered, including the Liang family.
I inhaled once. And cursed them.
"To the upholders of the law, who sold their conscience out of greed, hear this: May every food you buy with that money turn into hot coals in your mouth. And you will know no peace even in this life and the life after."
"For the Liang family, history shall never be kind to you. May the ghost of everyone whom you have hurt haunt every room and hall of the Liang estate, and a generational madness will plague your lineage for all eternity."
I recall the executioner pulling the lever and the floor dropping away. The rope tightened around my neck rapidly because of gravity's force, causing my neck to break.