It wasn’t long, the clock ticked past 12. My hands was gripping the chairs handle, I could feel the sponge on my head soaking up my sweat. I swear I could see my wife standing in the audience, with my three year old daughter. No tears, no screams she just stood there watching as the warden checked my pulse. The warden was walking back and fourth in the room, looking at his watch. Waiting for a call to come threw; I was biting the tip of my tongue by the time my demise was among their presence. I felt the surging of power jolting my bones; I gripped the arm of the chair scrapping off my finger nails. The last image was my daughter starring in my direction with fascination. I was idolized with my perish in the chair, people stood up and clapped as my body lay motionless on the chair. The warden walked forward in the crowds’ direction, holding a bottle of champagne.
Author: Francis JamesView this story's details
This is my redemption My last battle My last fight My last dying dream This is where it ends I will write one last story and then my dream of a writer shall no longer exist I plan to go more towards cooking th... Read Bio
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