The Light

In ten minutes John Wicker was going to die. There would be no stopping it, Death would soon be coming to claim her just reward.

Everybody knew it, even he knew it. The day had been coming for years now. It was funny, in his mind he never thought the day would actually arrive. To him the calendar would simply keep flipping with no end in sight. Now that the day was actually here, he was frightened of it. He didn't want to die, he didn't even know what death was. He couldn't comprehend it.

Of course everyone else knew they day was coming. The wretched bastards had been savoring it. They put it off to make him think it wasn't coming. They were evil. They got his hopes up just so they could destroy them. They didn't want to simply kill him, they wanted to torture him with it first. It was sickening, the way they operated.

They, he was using it again. It was a word he spit like bile, a sickening atrocity that described everything that was wrong with his life. They, the disease that was going to bring his life to an end.

Well if that's what "they" wanted then "they" could have his life. He wouldn't dignify them with the knowledge of his true suffering. Let them believe their torture failed, it would be a small bit of solace in an otherwise dark time.

Maybe he would smile when the time came. Not a regular smile, something big, something haunting. It would be big and white and so out of place that they wouldn't know what to do. Maybe it would haunt them. Yea, when they close their eyes they'll see him and his knowing smile. Let them wonder why. Let them lose sleep as they roll around in bed trying to figure out what he knew.

Still, they already won. His life was over. The breath was going to be stolen right out of him because that's what they wanted. His life would be cut short far before its time simply because that was their wish.

He didn't deserve it, he was a good man. A loner, yes, but a good man. He worked hard his entire life and earned every penny he ever made. He bought and paid off a house, was on time with his taxes, he even donated to charities often. He was good to people, smiled and waved, told them good morning or good afternoon. It wasn't his fault that he was awkward, that they didn't understand him.

His entire life they had been after him. They beat him up on the playground when he was a kid. Daily they would gang up to call him names and humiliate him. All he ever wanted was their love. Why couldn't they see that?

And now they were going to kill him.

John stared up at the lights as he passed under. They were dim enough that he could look at them without having his eyes burn. It was good to look at them, it kept him from looking towards the end of the corridor, towards his death.

His hands were bound in chains, as well as his feet. They rattled anytime he moved. They were rattling now with every step.

He slowed a little, trying to delay the inevitable.

"Keep moving," demanded a male voice, the guard to his right.

John was shoved forward. He had to take a wide step to keep from falling. The chains around his ankles caught and dug into his flesh.

He winced.

Why had he been shoved? They told him to keep moving and he would have if they had given him a chance.

John wanted to speak, to tell them he would have continued on without the need for force. He held his tongue however. He knew that if he tried to talk they would smack him upside the head.

They were always doing things like that. He hated it, hated them. Why couldn't they act like decent human beings?

Thirteen lights, that was all that was between John and his death. He could feel an imaginary heat every time he passed under one. They seemed to only grow hotter the closer he got to the end.