Banishment

He was thrown into the circle and hit the ground hard. All the air left his body, but he made no sound. He'd been drugged so he wouldn't complain.

His jailers moved to their designated places and muttered some words. The circle shone a bright blue and they knew it was sealed. They kept silent vigil. They knew it wouldn't be long now. The guests had started to arrive.

An hour later, he woke up sore. He groped for his glasses and found them some feet away, cracked. He groaned and raised his head to look around.

He was stuck inside a circle intricately carved on the ground. He touched its edges and felt himself pushed back. There was a crowd of people milling about, trying their hardest not to look at him.

They were on a hill lording over the rest of the city. They were surrounded by elegantly sculptured trees, on a stone paved terrace. He could see a house in the distance. The man wondered, for the briefest moment, what it would all look like set ablaze.

He took a second look at his prison. The only things inside were himself and a bottle. He moved closer so he could see the writing on the label.

"You're kidding," he said to himself. He unscrewed the lid and took a sip. "It's whiskey."

"Drink up," said the woman loitering closest to his prison. Her voice was bitter. "It would be a waste if you didn't. It was put there specially for you."

"Patrician, fancy to see you here." He took a swig.

She merely said, "Hello."

He waited for a response that never came; for her to speak his name, to show she really registered he was there. She just looked at him. It made him feel small. He waited for her to speak, but she was mute as a glacier.

He couldn't stand the silence. "What are we waiting for, Patrician?"

She cocked her head, as if she was confused. He kept speaking, and his voice rose slightly with every word.

"I expected something better. Tasteful pomp and circumstance. A string of hateful widows. I never thought that I'd avoid capture, but I did expect to go out with honor. A man deserves a proper execution.

"It's a damp, cloudy day and there's almost no-one here. Where's the artifice, where are the we mourn the loss of human life speeches? I've been stiffed!"

One of the wardens let out a flash of green light and the response forming in the Patrician's throat died.

"That would be the signal," she told him instead. "The ceremony is starting."

The noise level dropped and the crowd began to congeal together. The Patrician made her face a mask and turned to face the audience.

"I'll keep this brief. We all know this man, and we know his crimes. He must be neutralized. That is why I am here." She thought for a second on how to frame this next point. "You are here for the spectacle."

"Patrician," the man in the circle said, "to quote -- neutralize me -- unquote would be to leave me in prison to rot. What is this, really?"

She turned her back to the audience. "You have thirty minutes to enjoy living," she said to the man.

"Thirty minutes until I die?"

"No," the Patrician stressed. It started to rain. "Thirty minutes to enjoy living. The stone against your skin. The breeze against your face. Breathing."

"You couldn't've chosen to kill me on a better---"

"You are not going to die!" she said in her firmest voice. "If anything, today you will achieve immortality."

"Immortality," he said. "Immortality." He was seeing how the word fit in his mouth, trying it out for size. He repeated the word over and over until he smiled. "Lousy punishment. But I'll take it, since you've so graciously offered."

The Patrician's face was gaunt. She towered over him and her face was covered in shadow. He kept expecting her to shout, to have fire shoot from her hands.

Instead, through gritted teeth she said, "Do you truly understand infinity?"

She checked her watch. "In twenty minutes, you will be dropped into an event horizon. You will be roasted, asphyxiated, have your body stretched out to unimaginable proportions."

She pressed her face against the force-field containing him. "And it is believed you will not feel a thing, because time will have stopped for you. Your wristwatch will never tick up there. You will be alone for the rest of time, and you will never perceive the moment of your death. All you will have is infinity."

She resisted the urge to spit on the ground. "That is what we are here to see. You have less than twenty minutes to live."

A beat. "You're kidding me," he said. The Patrician shook her head, no. "You're kidding," he said more strongly. She shook her head once more.

The man twitched slightly and slumped down on the floor. He blinked once, twice, three times. The Patrician was worried that he'd dissociated completely.

"Why?" he whispered. He waited a few seconds for the Patrician to respond, but no answer came. He repeated the word more and more, as if it were a shield to save him from his fate. Finally he yelled it out and a wave of heat and fire erupted from his hands. It looked like he burned them and his wrists, but he didn't seem to notice.

"At the Council's whim," she replied.

The Patrician thought she could hear wheels spin in the man's head, and then break from overexertion. He fell to the floor and laid spread-eagle on the ground, every few minutes taking another sip from the whiskey bottle in his prison. Thus he spent his last few minutes.

Right before the transfer, he stood up, faced the Patrician, and uttered two simple words. "Remember me."