60 Ticks

5 ticks

Everything is set and by everything, really it’s just me, I am the fucking star of this show. The clock is hidden from me now, but this room is so stiflingly still that I can hear the drone of the big hand scoot round its plastic prison. 

I would guess that I am the only one here that is so heavily attuned to the tick. Kind of obvious really; I am the only one that will die next time that big hand hits 12. Only 55 ticks to go and I’m out of the hell hole.

10 ticks 

A cough from the audience and a screech as someone shuffles on their chair. Feeling awkward, are you? Feeling nervous? Bad even? Well, fucking bully for you. You should feel bad. This is inhumane. Putting a man, a man of my stature, no less, in this position - to be slaughtered like an animal - in front of prying eyes, thirsty for blood. 

I saw it when I came in. Her family in the front row. I met their gaze. The hatred boomed out of them, I feel it now still; radiating, an icy heat, even here in my quiet darkness. The mother; her cheeks puffed red, deep hollows under her eyes, lines of strain snaking from their corners. She blames me for that, for all this. I smirk under my death mask, let her blame me, it won’t bring her back will it? Stupid bitches, all of them. 

20 ticks

The CO is a real ball buster. Miserable bastard to be honest. Clearly never got any, if he did, maybe he would have eased up a bit. His words from moments ago circulate somewhere just beneath the surface.

“You have been sentenced to death by a jury of your peers..”

Steely - the old guy - he’s always been alright. Treated me decent, not like a piece of trash, not like the rest of them; making assumptions, thinking they know me, thinking they know what happened to me, to her. 

He’s here now, Steely, I wondered if it would be a comfort, but honestly I feel fine, who gives a shit? It’s not like life here is fun, fair even. I am done with this fucking place, get me to those pearly gates, thank you Jesus! Jesus was a reasonable guy, that’s what they all say - he will get it, he forgives too, not like this place where everyone thinks they are God; that they have some fucking right to judge me. Piss off. 

Nearly time, time to rest.

30 ticks

Shit that clock is loud. And now I have an itch, fucking great. My nose, no way of getting that sucker. I try to shift, in an attempt to brush the scratchy black fabric of my death mask against the very tip of my nose. It is impossible. I am strapped in so tight to this mother fucker, there’s no way. 

The awareness throbs through me and I feel my breathing heighten. Beads of sweat gather in the heat of my own perspiration, trapped in here, never again will my eyes see the harsh glow of those strip lights above. Shame. The straps are crushing. My wrists, ankles, chest, forehead. Forehead! Give me a break! How hard do you need to strap my head for Christ’s sake! The blood is pooling there now, I feel it in my temples, my sinuses throb against the pressure. My head is now shaved, felt weird, even weirder now with that sodden sponge dripping unpleasant and dank down the sides of my face. 

40 ticks 

Why am I thinking of her? Fucking typical. Wasting my last valuable thinking time on her, so insignificant, so undeserving of my thought. I maintained my innocence, of course. But it’s just me, myself and I now and there’s no need to hide. I give a little smile at that. How nice having space to be yourself. Bliss.

She was asking for it. I had seen her before, a few times actually. A little whore, always at that bar, always with some guy or another. You should have seen her, how she dressed! I mean, you see her, then you tell me she was asking for it? I dare you. Her tits were always out, and I mean out - she may as well have just taken that top off altogether. And the way she always leaned over the pool table, pretending to measure for a shot; she wanted us to look, me to look. And her skirts - you could see her knickers! Pink, frilly, stupid things. She loved the attention. I caught her eye once, she smiled at me. She was inviting me, it was clear, a guy knows. 

Bring me peace, let me rest, give it to me, I deserve it. 

My chest heaves.

50 ticks

They sent a priest, naturally. So sanctimonious, citing dreary passages of nonsense while I tried to enjoy my burger and fries - pot of mustard on the side - oh yeah. He asked me if I wanted to talk about anything, I told him, no Father, the time for talking was long gone. He smiled, called me ‘my Child’ and sent me on with some lines of, I think hope? And a blessing which I washed away with my vanilla shake. 

The 8th of July, that was the date I finally had my alone time with her. That date, that fucking date is etched into my memory after months of trial, endless appeals, letters, all of it leading me here, to this moment. 10 ticks to go, 10 ticks after billions of ticks.

I watched her from my corner, I had only had one, I wanted a clear head, I wanted to make sure I could enjoy every moment. She left by herself that night. I followed. 

55 ticks

God she tasted good. Was it worth it? Maybe, probably? Shit, who knows and what does it matter now anyway?

It turns out she lived close by and was heading out on foot, perfect. I caught up with her on the edge of the park, placing a hand over her mouth and pulling her backward. She was kicking and screaming into my glove - what a fuss she made! After the way she had looked at me too! 

In the trees, we had a good time, it didn’t last that long, she shouldn’t have made such a big deal! If she hadn’t maybe this would all have been different, but hey, we are where we are. I finished, then I finished her. The silence was magic. The high as I walked home, her taste still on my tongue, hell; it was worth it. 

And now I get my blissful end. 

59 ticks

The final tick until my rest; oh take me there Jesus, I am ready for my peace. Mama and Daddy would be proud. Daddy always taught me to be a man, to be strong, to be the boss. He told me, he showed me. He got Mama, more than once, I saw it, it scared me at first, but eventually I realised; this is how it must be. 

I swallow, the sweat pours. My pulse pounds. 

This is it, this is how it must be. 

60 ticks 

“Roll on one!”

The electric fries. 

****

The sharpness pierces. It twists and stings, the heat is excruciating; not hot but cold; the ice of frost-bite, pinching at every single piece of me.

I scream but no sound emits. The light blinds and scratches at my eyeballs, I blink and cover my face. The atmosphere is white and crushing, as though I am in a thick bubble of treacle, drowning, suffocating, but not dying, just existing. 

My throat, I grab at it; wanting desperately to find more air, is there even air in here? Am I even breathing? What is this place? 

Then it comes to me. Not in subtle drabs, but a freight train of pain hurtling at my chest. My loop, my reality, my afterlife. 

How many times now? I sit in that chair, 60 seconds, no more, always the same. The agony of the electric that never stops, the anticipation, the memory of her, of who I was on earth. Still stuck there, for how long? Forever? 

When will it end? When will it change? 

I cry out silent, dry tears. In the distance I see the clock, counting down, 30 ticks to go and I know the loop will begin again. 

I writhe on an invisible floor, scratching at my own skin but feeling no relief. 

10 ticks. 

I am sorry, please, I am sorry.

Make it stop.

1 tick. 

I close my eyes and clamp my jaw knowing it will come.

My life now, my purgatory.