Proof Against Mercy

The room went still. I let him through. Someone took him in on the word I gave. She set a place for him. She trusted me. I called it mercy. I believed it then. Now they set the empty chair in front of me. And they wait to hear what I will say. I let him go. He came back changed. He came back wrong. She left her door open on my word. By morning, the place she set was empty. I called it mercy. She was gone. It would sound like wisdom now: let no one through again, and the chairs stay full. Here is the lesson they want me to take: mercy was the door that let him in. Turn them all away, and the chairs stay full. I have the empty chair. It tells the truth. The harm is real. I let him go. But I will not live by that. Here is the proof against mercy: the empty chair, the open door. I won't sign it. I let him go. I won't sign it. I let him go. I cannot say I'd do it again. I cannot say I'd turn the next one away. The chair stays empty. I leave it there.