dress

Anisa

“Oh. Wow. Nice dress.”

It was not nice, nor was it a dress. It was a skirt. It was standard. Dark blue. She wore a dark blue tie, as well, and a black dress shirt. She tried dressing ‘nice’, yes, but in a way prisoners wouldn’t appreciate. This was business attire.

“No,” she said.

“Oh, no, I meant your whole outfit. Your ‘dress’. What you’re dressed in. Matches your hair. Your eyebrows really pop.”

“No,” she said. “Well, doesn’t matter.” He reclined to the back legs of the shoddy wooden chair not built for reclining but which nonetheless was always reclined in. “You should really do something about your lips, though. It would be amazing contrast. You’re all dark, but then they pop. Bright red.”

She had done dark blue lipstick previously. She thought it looked fine. As fine as she could look, which was a very low bar.

“No,” she said, again. “You’re not here to tell me things, you’re here for a last chance of giving meaning to your life.” She had phrased that awkwardly, but she’d been rattled by… nothing?

“No point. What’s done is done, and what’s done is I’ve saved the city. There may be some cultist stragglers, so like I said in court, stay on the lookout for those. I can die satisfied. Nothing more needs to be said.”

She closed her eyes. “You were found guilty of arson and murder. Delusional to the end.”

“Would you rather I wail about how I’m evil, and I’m going to hell? Or how the court is corrupt?”

“It’s not about what I want.”

“It is. You want your catharsis that you’re doing the right thing. You’re not getting it, because you’re not. But I get it. You need to show a strong hand. I support it.”

“I…”

“If only you were as smart as you were beautiful, you could avoid this embarrassment. But again, I get it, and it doesn’t matter.”

She was not beautiful.

She left.

He was held in that room for 3 days, 2 days past when his execution was scheduled.