Friday, August 5, 2011

One Life - fiction

This piece is directly related to my recent post One Life for Eight Others.  Some thoughts about what might happen to a serial killer upon and after death.  I have a lot more in my head & I will see how it all plays out.

The last day on earth.  God didn't find me in here, if there is one.  So many of these assholes are fased by the Word and it sickens me.  What the fuck kind of God creates a man like me?  One who thrives on seeing death at the moment of it?  One who fantasizes about making them suffer?  One who loves killing?

All the other murderous souls have sought forgiveness.  They find it, but not within themselves.  Because like I know, they know too, it doesn't matter because we are all going to die.  Why would I want to forgive something I love?  Maybe I'm the only one, but I don't think so.  I just think I'm the only one who's honest about it.  They are all wanting the fantasy of a heaven.  In my right mind, I can't fathom that anyone who's done the things I've done could find a place where all is good.  The only good I know is what I've done & I don't think heaven is a killing place.

"Roberts," called the guard.  "It's time for your menu."

"Yeah, I got it."  I slid the paper across the opening in the door.  They actually gave me a pen earlier.  I wrote a little more than my menu.

I knew I only had so many hours left.  I walked back over to the bench & laid down.  I closed my eyes.  There she was.  I could see her so vividly and she was the end of me.  I was used to the aversion of the gaze. I was used to the fear and the disgust and the pleading in their eyes, if I could catch a glimpse.  But, oh ho, she was different.  I think that's why she lived.

Her eyes lied to me.  They looked straight into mine & lied.  I saw a tinge of fear, the baby blues looked almost serene, and that told me she saw love.  The calmness made me untie her hands.  She wrapped them around me.  I could feel her nails braise my skin lightly and I was looking, locked into her stare.  I didn't know I'd let her go & in the moment, I was the one confused.  I wanted what she was givin' so badly.  She was so smart.  She did deserve to live but if I saw her today, I'd rip her head clean from her body.

I got up & walked to look through the wire in the small window.  It was 4:36, only a few more hours before it would all be over.

Gallant was watching the inmate with intensity.  He wondered what the guy was going through.  Gallant didn't feel sorry for him, not even a little.  After having several conversations, because there wasn't much else to do on death row, he realized this guy was a true monster.  Without a heart, without a soul - Jess Roberts was on his way to the only place he belonged, hell.

Gallant saw Jess look at the time.  It was so hard for him not to think of what the inmate might be thinking.  Was Jess afraid to die?  He sure didn't seem like it.  This was only the second lethal Gallant would be guarding.  The other experience was vastly different, the inmate at the time, Freddie Claussen, was utterly shaken & remorseful for his acts.  Gallant knows from his experience that most of them are only sorry for getting caught, sorry for themselves.  Claussen seemed to be truly sorry for what he did and while he was a total basket case walking the mile, he was accepting of what was coming to him.

Roberts didn't look like a monster.  He didn't have evil, beady black eyes like many of them did.  He didn't have a spiked tail growing out of his ass or horns growing from his head, but Gallant thought he should have both.  He was of medium build, a little on the tall side, not unassuming because he had boyish good looks.  Roberts had a face with soft features & wide light brown eyes.  Gallant knew that women fell for men like this and it was telling because of the amount of letters Jess Roberts had gotten in Gallant's short 4 year tenure on Death Row, all from women, all with photos and dribble of love.

Gallant was holding on to one last letter.  It might be one of those things that enrages an inmate who is about to die.  Gallant wanted everyone to be prepared for it.  The woman who sent the letter asked that Gallant wait til the latest possible moment to give it to Roberts.

ConCrit is encouraged.  I'd like to know what you see when you read, what does it make you feel like?

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