nod

"Gentlemen, let me just say that this has been the most professional execution I've ever received."

Inmate #63358 of the Texas penal system had learned -- if a little too late -- the virtue of the forgiving, loving demeanor as practiced by Jesus Christ. Before the previous night's dreams dissolved the bars and walls and guards for the very last time, he had prayed with confidence for the forgiveness of the officiant charged to conduct the most grim of duties. #63358 had prayed for the officiant's family. #63358 had prayed for those he had hurt, and had prayed for all of those still hurting, huddled in cold concrete corners.

The officiant delivered a curt nod, the kind familiar to weary authorities. It was a subtle movement, almost imperceptible, visible only in a momentary shifting reflection on his spectacles. To witnesses he'd remained silent, but to #63358 he had spoken:

"Thank you," he said, lenses signaling his humanity. "Though this journey you take alone, know that we share the sadness of your departure. May God welcome you with open arms and peace soon replace the heavy thoughts of those who mourn you."

#63358 found himself overcome; that his last moments would be baptized in compassion forgave years of lonliness. He felt a joyous shout rising from his soul, a "hallelujah!" fit to fill the sterile hall ...

But as it turns out, the nod was not meant for him at all.