The old one is frail and thin and grey, worn out and tired. Hands tight on his back, bent in on himself. There are lines of laughter on his face and lines of sorrow, and it is hard to tell of which kind there are more.
The judge looks at him, sternly, "What have you done? What are your achievements?"
The prosecuter starts his litany: Starving children, dead innocents, injustice galore. Wars and accidents and man-made catastrophes. Radiation everywhere, disappearing animals.
The old one says nothing. All he wants is to be done, and to rest. He remembers the time when he was young and energetic, like a racing horse at the start, and everybody loved him - for he was about to change everything around by 180°, he was the one who would make everything allright. And then he came and started his designated course, and somehow he was forgotten, although he was there all the time. Only now, that he is about to lie down and be done do people remember him, and they look at him and mostly blame him for what they perceive to be his misdeeds.
The jury's decision comes quick. He is led to the block, lies down peacefully, eyes facing upward. At the sideline he sees his successor waiting for the signal, all buzzed up and excited. Little does he know, hewill end up just the same. The old one turns his eyes upward again, looking at the guillotine that will put him out of his misery.
Ten, nine, eight, ...
He exhales and smiles.
..., three-two-one - HAPPY NEW YEAR!
The blow is hard, and everything is over in an instance.