Free Strange Perceptions by Chuck Heintzelman Page A

prisoners sat the box on the stage’s left side. Then they went to the large screen in the middle and pushed it back. The screen glided back, far upstage, out of the way for what was to follow.
    While the prisoners pushed the screen upstage, the Bureaucrats went to the box. Favel thought Mr. Grady would be in the box. It looked like a coffin. The man opened the box and removed a metal rifle. He detached the rifle’s butt, which he tossed back into the box.
    The lone Sentinel clopped across the stage to the man.
    The man handed the rifle, which now consisted of only the barrel and forestock, to the Sentinel, who twisted the rifle onto one of its arms. The man fetched a large magazine from the box and handed it to the Sentinel, who clipped it into its gun arm. The man and the Sentinel crossed the stage to the ship, stood backs to it, and faced across the stage.
    “They’re going to shoot him?” Favel asked Jesper. The seriousness of the situation caused her to whisper.
    “Yes.”
    “That’s horrible. I thought with executions they just gave you a shot and you went to sleep.”
    Jesper shrugged. “You end up dead either way.”
    “This is so barbaric. They’re not even going to vaporize him. They’re going to put a bunch of holes in him.”
    Jesper shrugged again.
    The woman Bureaucrat closed the box’s lid and called the prisoners over. She had them move the box, just a little, maybe a foot downstage. When finished, the prisoners went across the stage and stood behind the ship. The woman fiddled with the box and a seven foot high curtain sprung up along the box’s left side.
    Noise prompted Favel to turn around. While the Bureaucrats had been setting up the spot for the execution, two things had occurred. The amphitheater was now almost three quarters full and the news crew had arrived. So focused had Favel been on the stage that she hadn’t noticed the other arrivals. Newswoman Wendy Heart, “the Voice of the City,” worked her way down the center aisle toward the stage.
    Favel rolled her eyes out of habit. The woman’s phoniness irked her, fake blond hair teased up to three times it’s natural height, fake eyelashes, fake tan, fake boobs, but worst of all was her fake sincerity. Couldn’t people see through her? Why so many adored her was a mystery.
    A cameraman trailed Wendy Heart, his head covered by a large silver helmet with a single telescopic eye protruding out the front. A small man followed the cameraman, wearing headphones with a small microphone extended on a wire in front of his mouth. He carried on an animated conversation with somebody as he walked.
    Wendy Heart went to center stage and checked her face with a small mirror. The cameraman knelt on one knee a few feet in front of her. The headphone man issued instructions to both of them before disappearing off stage.
    Wendy Heart smiled her fake smile, nodded, and looked at the cameraman. She talked into a large, black microphone held below her chin. “Citizens. Today we are broadcasting the execution of the traitor, Mr. Anthin Grady, convicted of crimes against humanity, crimes against the City, treason, inciting a riot with intent to cause harm, and another dozen offenses. Capital punishment is only used with criminals who have committed heinous acts such as these and when the criminal has no possibility for rehabilitation.
    “Yesterday, five independent, certified physiologists confirmed, unanimously I might add, that Mr. Grady is beyond rehabilitation and capital punishment is not only warranted but indeed would be an act of mercy for poor Mr. Grady.”
    Jesper whispered to Favel. “This is insane.”
    Favel nodded.
    Wendy Heart continued. “As is every citizen’s right, even a citizen so fundamentally flawed as Mr. Grady, the choice on the manner of execution is up to the citizen. Mr. Grady chose death by firing squad.”
    “Bullshit,” someone yelled from the crowd.
    The cameraman spun and focused on the crowd.
    “If you’ll look