The Name | Teen Ink

The Name

August 19, 2015
By HorseKrazy SILVER, Melrose, Montana
HorseKrazy SILVER, Melrose, Montana
6 articles 17 photos 32 comments

Favorite Quote:
Whatever you are, be a good one.
-Abraham Lincoln


I wonder what my eulogy will say, he thinks as he flows deftly with the crowd. Will anyone realize I was a person before this? Or will they only be able to focus on the bad things I've done?
Yes, he'd done bad things, and he knew it. The fact that his face was hidden so carefully was proof enough how wanted he was.
You idiot. he says to himself. You stupid, stupid idiot. Why did he even listen to them? What had ever propelled him to act upon their cleverly calculated suggestions? Had he been so blind?
Yes, blind. he thought. So blinded with terror and rage you could not see clearly. And they knew it. They took advantage of it, and used him to the fullest. Too late did he realize his mistake. Too late.
He was a wanted criminal now. Now lawkeeper would dream of supporting his case. No human citizen even dared to speak his name… Or the name he called himself.
He'd had another name, long ago, but he'd lost it back in time, the minute he had sworn his life away to the Cunnings. In that minute, he created a new name for himself. A brave one. One of courage. One of crime.
You idiot, he says again. He stops, letting the crown brush around him. He stares at the ground under his feet. He has had enough. He is done. Finished and completed.
He turns around.
He does not feel the press of the crowd as he pushes against them. You've been used, he repeats over and over.
He stops at the first station he sees. He does not feel nervous as he steps through the door.
The uniformed man behind the desk looks up from his filing.
"Yes?" he asks expectantly.
It's time, he thinks slowly, and pulls the mask from his face. His faithful mask that has kept him alive for all this time. He fingers it a moment, then tosses it away. He straightens, letting the light hit his face.
The man behind the desk gasps and fumbles for the alarm.
Let go now, he tells himself, and unbuckles his belt as officers file into the room. He lays his weapons out for them, and offers them his hands. They grab him roughly, and hurry him to a cell, as if afraid he will change his mind and escape.
I won't go anywhere, he tells them silently. Just write my eulogy, but with all the bad parts cut out. Use my real name. The name she gave me.
He is guarded heavily until the day of the trial. Of course he is sentenced to death. He expected nothing less.
When asked for his final words, he says tenderly;
"Tell them my name. The name she gave me. The name she wanted me to wear."



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