The Interview

Waiting in line until it is my time. I wondered what I will say, What did I do, what is my excused? Looking apposite me, I am curios who is she? She looks so pale and fragile. I know she is dead by the blow in her head. What life she had been living, by the clothes she wears, And the blood dripping from her hair? I bet she will bargain, to be pardon. The man next to me, looks very conceit. Bet he will plea that’s not his fault he had a wealthy life, Killed by his jealous wife. It looks like he had an affair with the person in the other chair. Because both are still naked, with gunshots in their heads, The reason their lives were terminated. Still pondered what I will say, Why did I deceased on this day? Mr. Peter, the gate keeper looks so very stern, No regrets if he had to send you to burn. I don’t think I have to say anything, After all He knows my history and my abusive story. As I look around and see these dreadful faces, I know this interview is not based on gender, wealth or race. You will be judge by the rules of the holy book, It depends on what choices in life you took. At last I heard my name, Now my interview begin.