My Own Hell

by Jonathan Clements

I looked down and eyed the floor passing underneath me-my last mile

I had always loved that floor. It was so nice and cool. I wouldn't sleep on my cot at nights. I would just lay on the nice, cold floor, using my interlocked hands as a pillow. They say that I always smiled during my sleep... was that true? I guess I'll never know.

The officers held a tight grip on my skinny, frail arms. The strength of their grasp was un-relenting. I wanted to scream out in pain, but then again, it didn't really hurt that much-truth be told it was only a slight discomfort.

But that's how I was. If something didn't go my way-if I had just a slight discomfort-I would scream and scream and scream until I was satisfied. ...I had always loved to hear someone scream, even if it were me.

It was strange that everything could be so calm at this moment. Nothing was noticeable, or out of the ordinary so time itself seemed very surreal.

The two officers had always been very quiet, just standing at attention all the day "keeping the peace." The only word that I ever heard come out of their mouths was "good-bye" when they parted at the end of their shift. Then the next two "night-birds" (as we liked to call them) would come in and stand there just as quiet as the last two. I always hated how quiet they were.

I looked up to Officer Summers, the one on my left, and smiled. He looked down at me and smiled back-I always loved his smile, though I so rarely got to see it... only when he said good-bye to Officer Shmits-or Officer "Shits" as the inmates to called him-did I get to see his pretty smile.

Then, as our pace slowed my heart rate accelerated. We stopped in front of a tinted window... the tool of my demise was just past that glass. Was this their (perverse) way of scaring me?

It-the tool-seemed conscious of the task it was about to fulfill. It knew its job, and knew it well. Its power was expressed in its size-so vast! I could tell it would show me no grace.

I could see my reflection in the glass. I was shocked at what I saw... it was the first time I had seen myself in three years.

My bald head (recently shaved) was shining in the light hanging from the off-white ceiling. I loved that ceiling. I would always stare at it night after night lying on the cold floor just before I went to sleep.

My heavy brows cast a shadow over my dark-blue eyes, giving me a grim visage. My nose: perfect and round-definitely one of my most handsome features. My cheekbones were high and most apiculate, nearly adjacent to my eyes. My jaws pointed out remarkably; moved strikingly with every word I spoke.

...I thought I looked very handsome with no hair. I guess I should have shaved my face every day. It makes me look cleaner, more brisk. Instead, I had grown it to the middle of my abdomen, and my hair to the small of my back.

A moment of fright pulsed through me as I saw her reflection behind me, in the glass, that same horrified face. Was she really there!?

I had always loved that face...

The face that smiled at me every day during work.

That face that I saw as I grabbed her by her arm in the parking lot. She struggled to get free, but I only held onto her more tightly. She screamed and screamed for help. She looked around for her mace-her last chance-but then noticed she dropped her keys when I grabbed her, and the mace was on the key-chain.

I threw her down on the ground, and reluctantly covered her mouth to silence her scream. That stubborn bitch struggled and struggled under my large, strong arms. She wouldn't accept the inevitable: that I had already won.

Her foot went up into my crotch, knocking me off of her. She then made a feeble attempt at getting up and running to the safety of her car. But I easily caught up to her and grabbed her by hair.

Still she screamed but it was the fuel for my desire.

As an exercise of my power over her, I punched her in the jaw of her face, knocking her to the ground. Her scream died and turned to a cry-which saddened me.

She lay on her side holding her finger-tips to her bleeding mouth. I stood there for a moment, catching my breath, and watched her petite, beautiful body on the dampened pavement. She took a deep breath, and released it with a loud scream-my breath caught in my chest.

I then knelt down to her on my knees. She moved her body like an inch-worm in another attempt to get away. I grabbed her ankle, and stopped her short...

I slowly felt up her leg, that long skinny leg. She wiggled to get free. I laughed at that-she was ambitious. She had a brave little heart. The buttons popped off easily from her blouse. Her cry was pitiful.

She was calm after that, and only let out a few whimpers. Her body was now very, very weak.

Finishing what I had to do, I got off of her. She stayed on the ground, taking deep, long breaths. The tears on her face smeared her makeup. Her mascara was blackening the outer edges of her eyes. She looked up at me, begging me silently to keep her alive.

I walked away... she was left, left alone.

Wait! She knew who I was! She could tell anyone and they could find me in an instant!

I went into her house, gun in hand. For some insane reason I expected her to be asleep. However, she was wide awake.

It was almost as if she knew I was coming. She had a large butcher knife in her hand. She let out a scream as she charged at me and stuck the knife deep into the right side of my chest, just missing my heart. I fell to the ground, and she stood there... expecting me to die I suppose. I looked up at her, lifted my gun... I don't know why she didn't run away, I would've missed her then, but she didn't... and I didn't.

Her body made a thump as she fell to the ground. I was weak. I couldn't move. The knife was still deep within my body. Everything was now fading to black...

For what seemed an hour in front of that glass was no more than 3 seconds as we turned the corner.

I closed my eyes as they took me through the large metal door. There were people there-looking at me with blank faces. They seemed lifeless. As I moved to my death, there eyes moved with me.

I didn't know any of them. ...But never doubted they wanted to see me dead-those sick fucks. They actually wanted to watch a man die!

Abusing their authority, the two officers slammed me down onto the chair-my head banged against the back of it. I didn't mind though. I was soon to feel something much worse, much more agonizing, so why should it matter?

The chair swallowed my body. It was so large my feet weren't even touching the ground.

The chair was cold... Again the familiar cold I've always loved.

The officers stepped away. Two others came to me and calmly strapped my wrists to the wooden arms of the chair. They attached a small foot stool to the ground, then put my feet on the stool and harnessed me to it.

A black veil was placed over my head-and the skull cap put over it, strapped to my chin. I couldn't see anything. Everything was dark.

I've always loved the dark. It had such an illusional essence to it. You never know what lies ahead of you-and if it lies an inch in front of you, or twenty feet away, you can only hope to "feel" it.

The warden said my name... I lifted my head."You have been charged and found guilty of rape and murder in the first degree; you are hereby sentenced to death. Electricity will now be passed through your body a sufficient duration and quantity until you are declared clinically dead. Do you have a final statement?"

I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. My last words...

"As I will be debilitated and lame in mind, I ask a favor. It is simple, even to you, the feeble-minded, the weaker species. As the moment that approaches us is atrocious, this may be inevitable. But I want to ensure it occurs. ...You must scream. Scream from the depths of your soul. Pollute the air with horror. You may scream on account of the horrific scene of my demise, or you may scream to set free all the frustrations of your impotent struggles of life. On the misfortune that any of you do not entertain my beseeching, I will fulfill mine own request and here I'll tell you why: though I love the piercing sound of a scream echoing through my head, I do not make this inquiry perchance I may be pleased by it. It is so that in further time, throughout your trifling lives, it may serve as a reminder of this moment-in-time. So that when you hear a yelp, a cry, or any affinity to a scream you will recall this scene. Use this memory as you may. It may be a splinter in your mind, a memory of the moment you witnessed such a hideous spectacle. Or, it may be a reminder to sustain a pure, immaculate life, for you know what may await should you choose poorly. "...I know you expect me to repent. I have guilt, however I have no regrets. I took what I longed for and accepted the burden of the consequences. I’ve only one acknowledgment to her: ‘frailty: thy name is woman...’"

I smiled.

"No final words? Typical. Very well. Let the record show that the condemned has chosen not to speak. May God have mercy on your soul."

May God have mercy on my soul...

God? ...To me, it's just a word-a word signifying power. As of now, this chair is my God. It's power decides my fate...

A pulse! My back arched in a spasm. It was like a knife cutting straight down my spine! A sledge hammer to my head! A thousand needles to my arm. Like a thousand hungry piranhas on my legs-taking every ounce of flesh, leaving not an inch!

I heard a lady cry. A man gasped. It was almost as if they didn't expect this to happen. Those wretches. Is this not what they came to see!?

Hypocrites!

What did they expect?

It stopped. My body fell forward, but not far for the attachments prevented me from moving.

All was quiet. The buzz of the lights above the only sound heard-loud, yet distant!

No one could tell, but I was smiling behind that black veil. Everyone was so terrified at the moment-like they expected a fucking funeral with a brief interruption. They were so ignorant.

I was now their performer. A performing artist-giving my audience what they came to see, yet still disgusting and disturbing them at the same time.

...Still they beg for more!

"Kill the bastard!" one man shrieked. "He's still breathing!" The people started chattering, and affirming the man's remark.

Startled, I grunted; my back stiffened. They silenced.

This seemed even worse than the first!

Can I say I'm sorry!?

It was as though every muscle in my back curled up into my shoulder blades. I felt my own blood start to dribble out and down from my mouth, calmly down my chin and neck. My nostrils flared as blood poured out of them. My fingers blistered-they rose then popped, covering my hands in a hot liquid. My eyes rolled back into my head, and filled with the red of my blood. My chest felt as if it had been branded-put to an incinerator. My abdomen was ripping apart. My heart... one second passed... thump, thump... two seconds pass... thump, thump... three seconds... thump... four seconds... gone.

My body was still stiff as iron bars as the angry fire passed through it. My brain was slowly, slowly going away.

It stopped. I again assumed my position-leaning, but not fallen. I heard nothing. I felt nothing. I saw nothing. I smelled nothing-tasted nothing. Time did not subsist to me now. I don't know if they pulsed the electricity through me again or not.

They say I was smiling at my funeral... was that true? I guess I'll never know...

...My toes were burning as they were dragging behind me, bumping across the uneven ridges of the concrete floor...

The end

Copyright c)2001 Jonathan Clements