Death of Meursault:
A Continuation of The Stranger

      The novel The Stranger ends abruptly after Meursault explains the contentment he feels about his death and his wish for an angry crowd to greet him with cries of hate at his execution. The completion of Meursault's wish is never shown. This addition to the end of the novel shows Meursault's continuing determination to refuse to conform. Meursault's unwavering morals and desire that no one mourn his death any more than he mourned his mother's death are a major part of this addition. It also contrasts the vile nature of human beings towards those who will not conform with Meursault's understanding nature towards all people. This continuation not only adds a greater sense of completion to the novel, but also further demonstrates the lack of justice in any society which would condemn a man like Meursault to death.

now, the continuation...

       The next few weeks passed quickly. There were no further visits from the chaplain. I would get up each day, eat a little, and then I would spend the rest of the day simply staring at the walls or the sky while calmly awaiting my death.
       Often people would come to ask me if I was sure that I did not want to appeal my death sentence. Each time I would politely refuse the offer and state my wish to die. I would be asked then how I could wish death when I did not accept the existence of the afterlife, and I would reply that I was at peace with myself and that now was as good of a time as any. Each time this would send the person away frowning and shaking his head.
       Soon, the scheduled date of my execution arrived.
       That morning I was handcuffed and escorted to a car by a friendly man about my own age. We chatted a little. He told me that he had never seen a prisoner so at peace when going to his own execution. I was driven to a spot where an angry crowd - a mob of hundreds of people - surrounded a small platform which featured a guillotine perfectly centered on it, with a small basket to one side. I marveled again at how similar my predicament was to that of so many people during the French Revolution.
       Many of the people in the crowd were now turning their heads towards the vehicle I was arriving in. A feeling of contentment washed over me as I realized that my wish was to be fulfilled. I knew they were going to greet me with their cries of hatred.
       Several guards cleared a path for me as well as they could. I felt badly for them, as they were often hit with objects that were intended for me. Finally, a man with a megaphone warned everyone to let me through or be sent home, reminding them that I was there to be executed anyhow.
       Soon, I reached the platform. I was placed next to the guillotine at such an angle that I could see only the blade, the basket, and an old man who seemed to think that he was to have an important role in my execution.
       "Monsieur Antichrist," the man politely informed me, "If you have any last words or a favor you might ask of me, now is the time." I could barley hear his voice over the angry shouting of the crowd.
       I told him that I had nothing more to ask of the world and that I would gladly leave it now. This caused him to lower his head sadly. As he turned slightly and I saw the gold cross that was hanging from his neck, it realized that he was a priest. He confirmed this within seconds when he took out his bible and began to read from it into the microphone. I paid little attention to the words, as they seemed more directed at the crowd than at myself. I knew it was something about the mercy of God and people repenting for sins in the last moments of their lives.
       "May God in His infinite mercy accept you into heaven despite your great sins." He turned to the guards. "Put this poor man on his knees so that he may have one last chance to be forgiven by the Lord."
       After I was forced to look at the ground for a few seconds, I was pulled up again by my hair. At that point, the guard who did so spoke into my ear, softly enough that no one else could hear: "Hold perfectly still under the blade and we will only have to do this once." He then shoved my head into position underneath the blade of the guillotine. He ordered three other men to hold me while he did so, which was of course completely unnecessary. Still, I felt no resentment. I understood that it was his job to act in such a way.
       I was put at such an angle such that all I could see was the basket. I knew that soon I would feel a sharp pain and see it rushing towards my eyes, and that shortly after all would go black.
       As life flees from me and I experience the sharp pain of the blade and the separation of my head from my body, I feel my head raised into the air and see, in these last seconds of life, the angry gratification of the spectators as they view their final revenge.
       Although they would not wish it, this crowd fulfills my final inner wish by shouting their insults at me, allowing me to feel a strange sort of happy companionship with the people in the crowd as I die. I am not dying alone.