Moonlight Sonata - 15 minute Freewrite

Within the seconds of death I turned to him, the last man I'd ever see.  This was my last moment, the last time I'd ever be close to another human being.  But still nothing ran through my mind, for after all we had been through, I still loathed this man.  His auburn hair glistening in the sun as he cocked back his rifle.  He has asked if I had wanted a blind fold, or even a cigarette, but I refused.  Why start now?  Why turn away from death, for all my life had been leading up to this moment.  Staring down the barrel of his loaded rifle, the wind did not howl my name, the sun did not dim as though looking away.  The summer night remained the same as it had been yesterday, and that of the day before.  Nothing ever changes.  No one ever remembers.  There were more words to describe the scenery around me than the emotions I was suppose to be feeling.  By skin slashed and torn from the savage beatings I had received throughout the earlier weeks and months.  Scabs now healed over, then reopened by the tyrant now standing before me with his God complex.  And to think, all I ever wanted was a loaf of bread.  But in times like these, that seemed to be to much to ask for.  there were no rights for my kind, only that of slavery, of death.  Locked away from all pleasures of life, the ecstasy of love and lust forgotten.  this didn't bother me as much as I would imagine it would someone else.  "Any last words?" I heard him shout at me.  But I remained silent, as I had always done.  There was no bother praying for drastic wind changes, or lightning bolts for the Gods in the Heavens.  this was my punishment.  All the wickedness I had done throughout my short life, this was my judgement.  the last thing I remembered was that of a gun shot, and then, nothing.  No light at the end of a tunnel, no darkness surrounded, no heavenly gates, and no fires of eternal damnation.  Only the impossibility of nothingness.  My mind was as gone as my body, which now lay destroyed on the ground before me.  I lifted my rifle up to my shoulder, there it lay in rest.  Another one dead, another one gone.  They were only orders I had to follow, to kill that poor man who's body I tore into each night with my fist and knife.  His scars healed, and I was told to reopen them, to make him feel his wickedness.  But does that not make me now the wicked one?  To murder someone over a loaf of bread.  Denying him his basic human needs to survive.  But that didn't matter anymore, for he was dead.  As I looked over his lifeless body, I wondered what truly separated us, if anything at all.