That Could Have Been You

That could have been you, seeing the flash of the muzzle and feeling the bullets puncturing your skin. That could have been you, staggering back and smelling the gunsmoke as it fights its way across your breath. That could have been you, your legs giving out from the sheer dead weight of your body. That could have been you, feeling the dull black pain as your face strikes the earth.

That could have been you, fighting every rising shred of remorse in your conscience as you follow your orders. That could have been you, signalling the men with the shovels to start their work. That could have been you, mopping your brow with a dirty piece of cloth before you throw it to the next person. That could have been you, scenting the air and wondering if anyone's going to know, if anyone's going to find out, if anyone's even watching you at the moment of your damnation.

That could have been you, sitting comfortably in the station without a care in the world. That could have been you, ignoring that cancer that festers in the region you call home. That could have been you, knowing that there were people who needed your protection against other people with guns and power and money. That could have been you, hearing the faint roar of gunfire in the distance for years upon years and doing absolutely nothing about it.

That could have been you, looking over the sea of corpses wrapped in clods of earth. That could have been you, identifying the bodies by features that were no longer there — a favorite t-shirt instead of a face, an ID card instead of a spoken greeting, a wedding ring instead of a smile. That could have been you, remembering how this one was a father to seven children, knowing that these four staffed a newspaper all by themselves. That could have been you, thinking of colleagues and friends, knowing that this had happened many times before and would almost certainly happen again.

That could have been you, sitting hundreds of miles away in the middle of the metropolis. That could have been you, trusting the other regions to handle themselves well enough despite the political controversy your party once generated. That could have been you, counting people as allies in exchange for a blind eye towards their engagements. That could have been you, gathering the remnants of your authority in closer and closer circles, praying that nothing happens to separate you before the year is out.

That could have been you, sequestering yourself in your majestic mansion, surrounded by relatives and close friends who you've groomed over the years. That could have been you, surrendering yourself with the knowledge that all the eyes of the world are upon your back, knowing that the killing hasn't finished yet, wondering if you or anyone else will hang as high as Haman before it's over. That could have been you, calling for your legal counsel, insisting with every sharp breath that you didn't do it, that you didn't give the orders, that it was a different group of people with no motive as obvious as yours.

That could have been you.

That could have been you.

That could have been you.

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Never forget.