Execution Of Justice


Taming humanity has been a brutal task.

Yet millennia of executions have weeded out all but the most elusive non-conformists.

I’m an executioner. It’s all I do. Killing people for a living is a full time career. There are a lot of people who need killing, even today.

I’m a specialist as well. I kill the offspring of convicted felons up to the age of 18, where other specialists take over. It’s Herod’s Law, one of the oldest on the books. Now things have softened up in recent decades and more folks are insisting that these doomed offspring must at least have committed a crime themselves in order to warrant execution, but even a minor crime will do.

Maybe it’s still out there a little too far. Because I just killed somebody for “repeated graffiti offenses.”  Graffiti? Really?

On my schedule are book thieves, school truants, serial jaywalkers, litterbugs and vandals.

If convicted felons are allowed to breed, or already have bred, their criminal tendencies may be passed along, if not to the son then to the grandson. The worst of humanity can be eliminated if these lines are systematically destroyed. Over the centuries, fewer and fewer non-conformists make up an ever-smaller percentage of the population of Earth.

On this Earth there was never a Jesus Christ.  He must have been killed by Herod as a baby.

On this Earth there’s almost no one named Mohammed. There’s no Islam at all. There’s no record of an outstanding Mohammad in the 7th Century, but there is proof that the rich widow who became his older wife on my Earth married someone else on this one. Mohammed never gained the wealthy platform here that he stood on in Mecca and Medina.

Other religions from my Earth are missing as well. There is no sign of spiritualism anywhere. But everyone seems to have a place. No one is homeless. No one is unemployed.

There is one style of music. One school of art. One literary genre. One favorite color, one primary cuisine and one dominant personal vehicle. But these darned kids. So many of them are getting into those underground music genres, the black market has grown. If they’re caught I’ll have to kill them too, criminal parents or not.

There’s a much lighter attitude about death on this Earth than on just about any of the worlds I’ve seen. Where does it come from?

These people are promiscuous, casually using sexual contact for negotiations or simple spontaneous pleasure communication. They’re reminding me of the bonobos. They care nothing of religion, but they sure enjoy sex.

Some people are not big fans of sex. Once that gets known, their days are numbered. We want a strong, vibrant and growing population, not a smattering of freaky hermits. Speaking of which…

Growing cults of non-conforming men who dress in black robes with funny white collars when they secretly meet are drawing the attention of authorities. There are also isolated cells of women wearing head gear called “habits” and claiming to be the bride of Ra. Their assemblies are absolutely illegal and they’re being moved up in line for gas chambers and electric chairs all across the world.

On my beat I’m dealing with a cluster of young dicks who insist on passing around black market discs of rebellious music.

Rebel music has caused anguish in so many families of this weird other Earth. The shame of having your child exposed as counter-cultural is impossible for some to live down.

They’ve brought one to me. Caught him inciting a non-conforming dance party. Twenty-one kids under 18 were involved. None of them were having any form of sex.

“Why weren’t you at least having sex?” I ask the quivering teenager.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he whispers nervously, knowing what is to come.

Do I kill this kid? I don’t want to kill anyone, but if I don’t do my job I’m going to get killed myself. I hate getting killed. Maybe I can tough it out until I transcarnate…

What am I thinking? Hell no. I’m a non-conformist on my Earth and I’m going to screw over my doppelganger on this Earth by being a rebel here, too.

Let them fry me. I’m not killing this kid.

“Get out of here, you little twerp, and dance somewhere safe.”