The execution

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short story in journal form of a mans last hours before he is executed for murdering his family. Describing how he came to be up for execution by electric chair.

Submitted: March 27, 2007

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Submitted: March 27, 2007

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The Execution

 

By Kory. S

 

November 06, 2009.

Dante Michaels.

All I can smell is that old familiar smell of my rotting jail cell, that sweet smell of something you picture to be in movies. It’s been bleak and stormy out, since I can remember, how cliché. Yet I’m far from surprised. You wouldn’t expect anything less on a day like today; my day of reckoning.  It was 6 short years ago I sealed my fate. The slaughterhouse I was standing in was heaven compared to where I was being sent, and I was the soul cause. There was blood everywhere. I had never seen anything so… beautiful. One by one they fell, my own family murdered, struck down by my own hand. I remember it like it was yesterday, something just came over me. I…I just snapped. My doctor always warned me to take my medication in fear of becoming something they were always afraid of; a psycho killer.

 

Quickly and quietly I ran to the kitchen, and grabbed the biggest and sharpest knife I could find. Suddenly my sister runs up behind me, “Hey, what are you-“. Before she could even finish her sentence I turned around with assassin like speed and drove my dagger into her throat; blood sprayed the walls, a crimson line of perfection. This wouldn’t stay unseen for long. I had to move quickly. Just then I overheard my mother, humming as she walked up the stairs. I turned around as fast as I could. It was too late. The horrified look of shock and disappointment on her face means I’m sure she has seen my sisters’ lifeless body on the floor. Her loud shrill scream, gave me just enough time to lunge at her, as fast as I could, sticking my knife down through her collarbone and into her heart. She dropped instantly. I quietly lay her body down, and was on my way. The only person standing in my way of freedom was my father. I decided; no knife for this one. So I ran to his room and grabbed the .357 magnum he always hid in his closet. All I had to do was wait for him to come home. As the hours seemingly crawled by, I sat on my bed silent and perfectly still, thinking. Just thinking about what the hell was going to happen when this was all over. Just then I heard the front door open, it was time to go. He yelled out, “Is anybody home?” I said nothing. He called out again, this time I just hit the wall with the handle of the gun so he would come and check it out. “Who’s there?” he called out. I was sitting on my couch at this time. He was almost upstairs, walking slowly. I shot at the first thing I saw; his knee, as he was on the last stair. Blowing his knee cap clean off. As he lay there, bleeding and wondering what the hell just happened, I get up off my couch and stand over him, magnum still in my hand. “Wh-why, why would you-“…I pulled the trigger. Just then I heard police sirens and I knew this wasn’t about to go my way at all.

After the endless beating I got from the police and the conviction from that jury, the next few years were a blur. So here I am, rotting away for the next few hours, until it’s my time to walk the green mile and give these sick bastards what they’ve been waiting to see all these years.

A few hours later, here I sit in this giant chair, a chair fit for a king it was so big. This was my throne, and just for these few moments, I am king. The room around me was small, and I could smell the history of charred flesh and countless number of executions. As I sit here and give the last chapter of this journal and what seems my life, I can hear the subtle hum of electricity charging all around me. After the reverend administers my last rites they ask if I have any last words. I reply with “Come on, I don’t have all day”. …They throw the switch.


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