Final Release (working title)

It was my last meal. I watched as the fat man with a moustache pushed it towards me, a look of pity and contempt crossing his face. I glared back unafraid of the fate that lay before me.
I began with the vegetables, the smooth fresh taste of carrot and peas oozing over my tongue. I was surprised with just how good it was.
She had said it would be like this, her words like warm honey in my ears. She told me this would happen and it had, exactly as she said. I was not afraid; I would be with her soon.
I continued to slowly devour my meal, savouring the buttery taste of mashed potatoes, massaging my gums. My hand shook slightly, as though it had a mind of its own, perhaps the mind of its rightful owner.
The murder hadn’t been as bad as I had thought. It was long and my muscles had ached shockingly, but she guided me through every step of it. Though in the body I now possessed it had seemed almost impossible at times.
The last of my meal, a juicy steak, I felt my mouth water at the mere sight of it. It’s freshly cooked taste and chewy fat ravishing my taste buds. I felt as though I’d never tasted something as good.
Soon the guards arrived, pushing me out of my cell and down the long corridor. I did not speak, had not spoken since the moment I entered that cell. The men left me to walk to the huge cold chair that would end this young body’s life.

‘I can’t believe they gave this sentence,’ one of the guards said softly to the other, watching their prisoner being strapped down.
‘After what he did?’ the other replied, ‘and have you heard what he told them. Possession, hearing voices, past lives. He’s mad, what else could they do but put him out of his misery.
‘Well, yeah,’ the first answered, ‘but he’s still just a kid.’
And turning sadly, the two guards witnessed the young Russel Bex, barely twelve years old, executed.

Journal Comments

  • Whirligig
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