The man is not blindfolded. His eyes seem to bore through me, though I don’t believe he’s looking at me. I won’t look at him. I won’t look him in the eyes.

I think he’s looking around, maybe at the sky. Maybe the snow, or the facility behind us. What a dismal thing to look at before you die, all gray concrete and steel doors, bars on windows. Maybe he’s breathing in the cold winter air. Feeling dry wind brush snow onto his boots. Maybe he’s cold.

I see it all out of my peripheral, my gaze is most definitely trained on the ground, the snow. It’s so white. It won’t remain that way.

The officer barks an order the standing row of soldiers. I don’t know his name. I don’t know his rank. I should. I don’t.

I’ve seen this before. I’ve been in those boots. It wasn’t pleasant but it was an order, carried out as any other kind. Why give it a distinction. It was a task given to me. I had to do it. Surely I had to do it. What other option was there. I didn’t vote on a man’s death. Is it different from killing someone? I’m not sure. It’ll haunt me later tonight however.

They should be asking if he wants a blindfold. I wouldn’t. I’d want to see before death. I’d want to, right?

There’s motion in my peripheral again. The soldiers in the line are moving, swinging their guns off their backs. I tilt my gaze and chin up, looking straight ahead. I don’t see.

Shouldn’t this be justice? Shouldn’t this be a fair result, a good consequence for a murderer? A life for a life? An eye for an eye? But why do we commerate one death with another. Isn’t that just a loop. How do you define justice if not order we’ve created. Who’s to say if that order is fair.

The soldiers have aimed by now, their rifle stocks pushed against their shoulders. The officer’s arm is raised. He’s still yelling. His voice is too loud, to large for the courtyard we’re in.

The man is not blindfolded. He flinches as the bangs echo, and he slumps. I still haven’t looked at him. I won’t look at him. The snow is no longer white, and the courtyard is still too small.