Judicial Execution

I woke with a start.

“Where am I?”

Sitting upright in a darkened room, I try to reach out with my senses to tell me where I am. Cold, inelegant metal bites into my legs and wrists.

“What the?” I softly question myself.

I come to realize the room isn’t dark, my face is covered by unfinished leather. I feel the same around my chest and waist. My chair is hard and unforgiving as I struggle modestly against my restraints. I feel someone approach my side.

But I am not comforted.

The presence roughly paws against my head with a cold, wet sponge. The cold I knew is now replaced with something much more powerful now, terror.

I struggle more passionately now.

“What’s going on?” I raise my voice to the presence.

The only reply I receive is a sharp blow to the side of my head and a chuckle.

I soon become aware of two more things, the ticking of a clock and the rumbling of a small audience.

As I shout my last words, “Why am I here?” I struggle to understand.

I can hear the switch being pulled into action.

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