Execution of Sentence

Execution of Sentence John Robinson

He stood alone in the silent dark room lost in his thoughts as he
waited. "What a life its been." he thought to himself. He lit a
cigarette, the last one allowed, and looked back on a life that could
be measured in distance as well as years. You could measure his life by
the scars on his dark skin. They stood out like a darker road map that
traveled through every hill and valley of his life. He exhaled and
the smoke added to the pall of the room. He should have quit smoking
long ago but that single point didn't seem as important as it once had.
It was strange, he thought, how life goes when one reaches a certain
point. Revelations seem to drift away like the smoke, there but
insubstantial; insubstantial but note-worthy.
  He glanced at his clock. It was almost time now. Almost. The
room seemed more crowded than usual. He ran a slow weary eye over his
possession as if to memorize them for some later occasion. He had never
been materialistic; a failing of his if you asked a certain woman
who had once known him. She could tell you with, very
little prompting, of all his failures. She imagined that she knew
them all very well and she would also tell you that she knew that
he would end up exactly where he was; facing this moment alone.
        He had always been a loner,
even at his most companionable; there was a feeling of distance between
him and others. That distance seemed greater now, his list of
acquaintances growing smaller as time passed. It was only fitting that
he faced this moment in solitude, flanked only the surrounding walls
and his sparse belongings.
    He probably deserved this he thought. In his life he
had done many things and this was no doubt karma in
action.  What goes around comes around. A Ying for the
Yang of his life. A settling of accounts that were passed due. He had
earned his sentence as surely as he drew breath. Now he only awaited
the execution.
       He stubbed out the cigarette and
frowned. He already wanted another. He ran his hand along his bald
scalp and his lips curled in a small rueful smile as a thought
occurred. In all the movies he'd seen of electrocutions the inmate's
head was shaved. He guessed nature had put him ahead of the game
already.
        A noise outside
caused him to turn quickly, the smile sliding from his face
as he heard the sounds of approaching footsteps. His heartbeat quicken
noticeably as he begin to hear voices. He looked around the
small room but he already knew what he would find. There was only one
entrance and they would be coming through it. His mouth was
slightly dry and he wished that he could have the world's largest
coldest beer. There was no chance of even that now. He heard them
at the door now; the voices undeniably close. He wanted to
shout at them, to tell them that they had come too early and he wasn't
ready. His body trembled slightly as he heard a voice speaking loudly.
He swallowed hard, feeling his throat constrict as he moved to the
door. He thought it would be better to face it like a man and then he
heard the voice again, louder this time and accompanied by an energetic
knocking on the door. "Grandpa, we're here, let us in."
         He sighed once, turned
the handle and let the little beasts in. His eyes widened with horror
as he saw that all three had overnight bags.
The End
 
 
                                          

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