May 17th (continues)
The crowds were rowdy,
I could feel some of the people hated
me, maybe most of them hated me, they
hated my guts, my defiance. I didn't
scream or beg for mercy, I wasn't going
to give them the satisfaction.
Some felt pity,
I could see it in their faces
as the whip carved my breasts and my
blood sprinkled on their hands.
The soldier
flogging me was strong, and each stroke
shook me like a rag. But he was
soon sick and tired of his duty so he
passed it to another one who came with
fresh strength. My cries were
inside...
After the flogging
I was taken out to of the city, dragged
and pushed, the crowds screaming and
throwing rocks and garbage at me. Their
anger was irrational, I was to blame
for whatever they felt was wrong with
their existence. They were all
like savage beasts eating the flesh
of their prey.
When I finally arrived
to where criminals are dragged for execution.
I was pushed down to the ground, a soldier
kicked me to turn my body around. In
pain and fear, I was fasten unto a crossbar,
my hands were spiked into the wood as
I grabbed its edges, my hands twisted.
The fact that I could hold on to the
crossbar just added to my agony.
