The Final Choice of Martin Marble

An uncomfortable silence expands inside of a wooden room, occupied by friends and family members of the late Jane and Roger Ellis. On top of a platform ridden with sawdust and termites is Martin Marble, a fifty-six year scruffy old man who dons an ugly blue coverall, accented by his white tee-shirt stained with tears and fading spots of soiled mud. His hair, tousled and withering in color, looks as every little bit depressed as Martin’s green eyes, welling up in the tears of remorse and regret. Martin’s hands are tied behind his back by harsh rope burning his wrists and scathing his soul, and the itch-inducing rope surrounds his neck loosely, ready to strangle, snap, and transform Martin into a cadaver within moments.

“Martin Marble,” a short bald-headed man forcefully voiced, “you have been charged and convicted for the murder of Mr. Roger Ellis and Mrs. Jane Ellis. The court condemns you to...”

The voice drowns out. Martin silently stares at the waiting public before him. He can see the quiet curses and insults popping out of the minds of the community, the callus words stabbing Martin’s sense of self-worth and chipping away at his integrity.

“...death by hanging. Do you have any last words? Mr. Marble?”

Martin jolts himself back into reality.

“Mr. Marble!”

Martin raises his head despondently and meets the eyes of the bald-headed grim reaper.

“Do you have any last words?”

Martin takes a deep sigh. A part of Martin wanted to simply shake his head and accept the fate beknownst to him. Martin clears his throat and prepares to announce his departure with a soft string of poetic apology.

“The life you create for yourself,” his voice began, quavering, “is a matter of the decisions and choices you make, the opportunities you embrace, and the ones you shy away from.”

The clicks of camera shutters and fanning fans come to a halt.

“Had I not pulled the trigger on that decadent eve," Martin continued, “blasting away the dreams of the Ellis family, and perhaps allowing them to continue throughout life with the many choices of the future they had in abundance --a child, Christmas holidays, and seventy or more years ofthe fantastic familial bond, I wouldn’t be standing here today. Had I made the choice of giving them choice in their futures, I wouldn’t have this brash rope looped around my neck as the people before me stare me down, waiting for the pull so that I am also cursed with the inability to ever make a choice ever again.”

A quick whip of a burlap sack sounds, slashing away at the silence for a split second. Martin continues, his words unmoved.

“And though I am filled with regret, bitterness, and hatred for myself for the things I’ve done in past times, like failing to connect with my family on a regular basis, or failing to pay my debts on time, I am more aghast at the fact I will never be able to make a single choice ever again, good or bad.”

Martin intently scans the room and lands on a group who tearfully huddles against the winter air but alertly listens to the murderer.

“To the Ellis family, I am deeply filled with sorrow and apologize for what I have stripped away from you, for it is only now at this moment I can fully comprehend what I stole away from your estate. I accept this fate before me, and as I die and pass onto the next world, I hope that you can forgive me of my sins the way the great Lord would, and I am ready to spend the rest of eternity in solemness, as I make up my mistakes, misunderstandings, and misgivings to you.”

The bald-head grim reaper nods to a tall burly sorcerer who opens up the burlap sack.

“Life is about choice. Without choice, there is no life. Without free will, there is no soul. Without loss, there are no tears. Without guilt, there is no remorse,” Martin lets out a soft cough. ”Every moment offers us a choice in how we want to live and be remembered, even if we are not in control of the world around us. Our choices are all we have. I carry my guilt from this world into the next, for that is all I have, now that choice and free will are no longer with me. The only other loss I have now, is a loss of words. Goodbye.”

The burlap sack muffles Martin’s soft tears and covers his face, creating pitch darkness, a sight that will be the most familiar one for Martin Marble. Forever.A swift snap of the wooden bar shuttles Martin downward, splits his neck and forsakes his lungs to steal anymore oxygen from the Earth.

Normally, an uproar of cheers and celebration would fill the soundscape of this filthy wooden room, but the silence was even deeper, still, and peaceful. Members of the community quietly gather their belongings and the public audience tearfully usher themselves and their children out of the ceremony.