Prologue
Chairs are symbols of circumstance. An employee might, much to his disgust, be confined to a chair for eight hours doing paperwork or some other repetitive task. Conversely, a king utilizes his throne to signify his limitless power and authority. Somewhere in the middle, there are the more mundane uses, such as to eat dinner, to watch television, or to simply avoid standing. Not for James. James had no choice in the matter of his chair. He had been sentenced to death.
James sat in his chair, drenched in sweat and shaking uncontrollably. The only thoughts racing through his mind were both irrational and fragmented. Until now, he had never completely understood the concept of “your life flashing before your eyes.” He longed to relive every happy memory he had ever experienced. He wanted to see his family, to see his friends, or even to see one of his enemies. Seeing anyone would have been more comforting than what he had now. But he could see nothing but darkness and he could hear nothing but his own thoughts.
Why? Why, God,? Haven't I done enough? Haven't I suffered enough? Are you even there? God? God, don't let me die. Please. I'm too afraid. I'm too afraid of what comes next.
In a last-minute attempt of desperation, overwhelmed by fear, he tried lifting his arms with enough force to break the belts that bound him to his chair, but his efforts were futile. Even if he was able to break free, he would still have to contend with the warden, the guards, and the audience of his execution. James began to tremble so violently he could hear quiet gasps from the audience. He imagined some thought he was having a seizure. Others probably recognized it as a desperate attempt to escape, or a single outpouring of all the emotions one could simultaneously experience.
And then, in a brief series of moments, his desperate flailing quickly descended into stillness. Tears welled up in his eyes. He didn't care. There was no reason to, not now. There was no reason to care about anything and there was no point in dwelling on life or its memories, as they were all about to fade from existence.
What was will be no more. What will be...
In that instant realization, James embraced death. It was now the only thing that mattered. It was his last true adventure.
Though no one could see it through his black hood, he gave a brief smile as the warden signaled the executioner to flip the switch.
Topic: My untitled book. (Read 1861 times)
