The priest looks sympathetically at the serenity and reserved innocence of the convicted man and drops his head, almost in shame. Both men sit quietly, lost in their thoughts. The sound of a key turning introduces two officers who walk towards the prisoner and handcuff his wrists violently. The priest flinches and looks away unable to bear his own futility. I do not count the years I have lived, but the things I have accomplished in these years.
Every man dies, but only a few have the privilege of dying for a cause.
He smiles softly and submits to the officers. Obediently, he follows them out of the cell. They walk on. The priest follows the fretted prisoner s apathetic disposition. There, beside the lurking post, lies a fragile wooden coffin.