Time does not move in this place. We spend our moments anxiously contemplating if today is today. Is tomorrow yesterday? There is no time here. Just the sound of ticks. Tick. Tick. Tick. Never a tock. The sound of the relenting metronome ticks on. We are never free.
I hear the voices of guards. I think. It sounds like the chatter of bitter men, but then again, it doesn’t. For I am a bitter man, and I hear no sound escape my lungs.
This cell is dark, cramped. Won’t be much longer.
I die today.
It’s hard to comprehend. Knowing I will be dead in a matter of a few ticks. Tick. Tick. Tick. Why bother to count them when time is but an illusion in this institution? When the Red Guards come to my dreary cell in Block D, rip me from my hard cot, and parade me down the never-ending hall, I know it will all end.
Today. Today is today. The day when the world watches my final breath fly away.
How long has it been since that night? Or was it a morning? It’s been so long I can barely recall the shallowest of details. But I remember her. How could I ever forget her?
She was a veterinary student with all the flair and finesse of a 1940s Hollywood starlet. Not even the pale blue scrubs covered in kaleidoscopic shades of dog hair could mask the innate beauty of this woman. Her long, silky legs were hidden from the world by day. At night, they invited me in. I had true perfection in her. When we consummated our love, it was as if the heavens parted and the Supreme Being looked down with haunting approval.
I hear a knock. “Inmate! It’s time to go,” a stern voice says.
It has come.
The Red Guard grabs at my wrists, forcefully adjusting my shackles. As if I would try to escape. Not again. The jury said I was guilty. So I must be. I must be.
He stands me up. It’s been so long since I have stood, yet it could have been yesterday. The pain in my legs is like atrophy – my muscles withered away. Then again, it could be the fear consuming my body once more.
Three steps.
I am out of the door.
This is how I know it is done. Three steps out of the cell. Counting the ticks of time serves no purpose here. But studying the rhythm of the footsteps decides your fate. Sounds that fade into the east will go on to the cafeteria, the visitor’s room. I have no visitors. The steps diminishing into the west, like the sun, yield no return.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
After five, we know who’s on the chopping block. Five steps out of Cell Block D lead to execution. The Red Guard takes me past five steps.
When did my life come to this? Where did my path take me so far off course?
I am on my path to death.
In the end, we all die. Some of us aren’t lucky enough to choose when.
The way she used to look at me assured me everything would turn out all right. She would always calm me, lift my spirits in dire times. Except now. She can’t be seen with the monster I am.
I wish I could remember her name. Every detail of her is imprisoned in my mind. Without her name, she might as well be an unreachable dream. The future Mrs. Jeremy Higgins was an unachievable vision that faded as the tick, tick, ticks grew louder and louder.
The Red Guard sits me down on a bench. Several other inmates sit alongside me. Is this what they mean by Death Row? They only take the machine out twice a year, they had said. Suppose they need to clean house when they get the rare opportunity.
I didn’t do it!
I am innocent. The boy was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s all. An accident. Yes. Yes, just an accident. I demand a retrial! I demand my freedom! I am as free of sin as that little boy. How can I prove that to you demons masquerading as people?!
An intercom. A monotone bailiff drones.
Click, pop, click.
“Send in inmate 630781.”
The elderly man at the front of the row sheds tears as the officer pulls him to his feet and forces him through the door at the end of the room. A little light escapes from the open door. To see light – though it means my end is near – is a sweet sight. We sit here, quietly. Waiting. Contemplating. Fearing.
Three more sit idly in front of my row. Now two have entered behind me.
I haven’t slept much. My beard grows straggly and thick, and my hair is greasy and turning a silvery grey.
When a sliver of golden rays beamed into my cell, I seized the opportunity to gaze at an old photograph I was so graciously allowed to tape above my cot. It was my favorite. She and I were celebrating our fourth Valentine’s Day. I surprised her with a weekend getaway to a mountain chalet. In the photo, we are bundled up in warm ski jackets on the top of a mountain. The smile on her beautifully crafted face sums up her entire existence. She used to love smiling and making others smile. Now I’m unsure if that is still her divine calling. And then there’s me. Standing next to this magnificent creature. I am freshly shaven, precise haircut, and a smile not nearly as potent as hers. We were young. We were in love. Oh, how things can change.
I will always love her. Though her name escapes me. She is my love. My only love.
The same routine. The intercom roars, and another poor soul is carried away into the well-lit room. There are two more waiting ahead of me. My heartbeats scream loudly, adding to the chaos of the silence.
The little boy. That goddamn little dead boy.
Point the fingers at the witness. Call him Murderer. Pin it on him.
They didn’t believe a word I said. No one did. Even the only one who ever thought I was worth something turned her back.
The visits stopped some ages ago. Her electrifying smile fled from her, and a pale depression filled her face, which was once as warm as a freshly risen sun. Her auburn hair grew tremendously long since the trial. I wondered if her ever-increasing stress prevented her from cutting it. I wanted to believe she didn’t want to discard the part of her appearance that I would caress as I kissed her. The end of her hair, the hair I used to run my calloused fingers through, now frayed at her shoulders. She would be cutting the dead ends off very soon.
There is an ear-shattering scream of terror, presumably from the next room. The group of condemned gasp in unison. Our hearts quicken, and sweat now douses our brows. The line gets shorter for me. More enter behind me as if we are ushered like cattle. That’s all we will ever be – cattle for the slaughter. They call us by our mandated numbers on our orange suits, not by name. Never by name. That would be an attachment. That would make us some form of humanoid creatures. And they can’t risk sympathizing with us two-legged cattle.
It was the spring. I know this because the air began to buzz around us like a comforting blanket. It felt safe and new. The garden in the front of our yard brought forth young life as she worked the moistened earth, and I mowed the tall, lush grass. Hours would pass until we lay in our hammock, staring blissfully at the stars shining just for us. In those moments, we were the only two people in the world. Sipping freshly squeezed lemonade and planning out the future in that hammock. The bright stars glistened in her eyes; this was our moment. The little blue box in my pocket suddenly became too heavy to lift. But I had to. She was The One. This would be my perfect moment for the perfect woman.
“I love you with every fiber in my being. You have made me the happiest man in the world, and I am thankful for each day that I am able to spend with you. You believe in me and stand by me in times of pain and sorrow. You are everything to me. Will you give me the honor of being your husband? Will you marry me?”
The stars now shimmered in her tears and reflected off the pearly white of her enamel as she erupted in immense joy. She was mine forever. Or at least what I thought would be forever. I wonder where she is now. I hope she is still that joyous, even if I am not the reason.
I bet she aged well. Like her mother, she was destined to be beautiful until the grave. In her younger days, Grace Kelley would be envious of her gorgeous exterior. It didn’t compare to the inner beauty of her heart, though.
God, how I miss her! I would give anything to see her now. The soothing sound of her voice whispering in my ear, “Everything will be alright, my darling,” would bring me immediate comfort, and I could die a happy man.
But I won’t. She is but a ghost in this place now.
I wish I never had that party. I wouldn’t be here – I know that much – if I never went there. She was surrounded by an aura of wedding-day bliss, while I was haunted by the typical wedding-day jitters.
“Come out with us, Jeremy!”
“One last time to be a man before that ball and chain drags you down!”
How right my friends were as they called inside from the porch. It would be the last time I would be a man.
“Don’t go out,” she said. “Please. Don’t leave tonight. I need you.”
She needed me, and my friends got the better of me. She sobbed. To this day, hurting her is still the one thing I would take back.
If I could die today and she would have never been hurt by me, I would do so without question.
But I am dying today.
And she is still crushed by me.
How sorry I am, my nameless love.
The door opens again, claiming another victim. One more helpless man – more like a boy – sits in front of me. His foot taps, and he looks up. Is he praying for all this to be a sick dream? Aren’t we all praying this is nothing but a nightmare and we will all wake up in a nice, comfortable bed in the embrace of someone we love? God knows I have prayed and pleaded and yelled. Let me wake from this Hell.
Alcohol and an overwhelming sensation of guilt consumed me that night.
Time was a blur, and all any of us could remember was an orgasmic array of neon lights. My friends had left in a rush. I stayed behind to walk the back country roads, soaking in the atmosphere and hoping the trek would sober me up before I reached home. Before I reached her.
I walked down by Mrs. Miller’s farm; her white picket fence was my first familiar marker, letting me know I was growing closer to my home. I must have stumbled along further. I awoke by the pond down by Dr. Schmidt’s home. Flashing red and blue lights stung my eyes like a visual popping of a balloon. Each flicker of luminescence caused me to jerk my head back as best I could to escape it. The sirens blared but were overshadowed by the neighbors’ incessant cries.
The nervous young man in front of me is crying. I am tempted to ask him why, but we all know why. No reason to show sympathy outright. It is implied. I wish I knew what he did to deserve the death penalty. Was he a monster, or was he merely an unfortunate bystander? The middle-aged man on the other side of me shows no emotion. To me, he looks very calculated. He must be inhuman. No man can be that stoic in this room, could he? But his look says it all. He is guilty, and he is proud.
I am not haunted by the screaming mother of that little boy. I am not haunted by the little boy or the town. I am haunted by her. Her and her alone.
“Why did you do it?”
“I don’t know, I don’t remember.”
“You killed that little boy!”
“I-I didn’t mean to. I’m not a monster. I wouldn’t. I…”
“They say you drowned him in Dr. Schmidt’s pond. His mother said he was running away from home. You were the only one around…”
“I’m telling you, I don’t remember anything!”
The conversation went on like this for some time. The fear in her eyes. The trust, the faith she had in me…it was gone. Nothing I could say would ever resurrect it.
She called the wedding off. Her intended was in prison, wasting away like an antique on a shelf. Preserved but forgotten. Every once in a while, she would visit to clear the dust off, but it would accumulate more and more until I realized she would never return to clean this place off me.
I know I am innocent. I don’t remember holding that young boy’s head under the water, his body flailing under my strong hands.
It wasn’t me. I could never hurt someone.
Then again, maybe I could. Maybe I did. And maybe I liked it.
No.
Light bursts through the open door. The nervous young man sobs as he walks to his death. The door is shut once again. Next, it will be me.
What have I done with my life? It is time to be honest with myself.
I was a decent student, attended a decent college, and proposed to a woman who was even better than the woman of my dreams. We lived with fiery passion each moment of every day. She was out there saving injured animals, and I spent my days designing graphics for large companies. Things looked wonderful for us. Financially stable, we were able to buy our first house together and rescue three lovable pups from the pound. She treated them like her babies. She always wanted a daughter. I sincerely hope she has one now.
No, it wasn’t the night of the bachelor party that the boy died. It was another night. My memories betray me. The night of that party was the night I woke up with a nasty hangover in my neighbor’s garage as a cruel joke by my friends. I don’t remember much of that night, but I remember the incriminating photos they taunted me with. Now that I think about it, none of them ever tried to contact me since the boy drowned. Some friends they were. Perhaps I am only as good as the company in which I keep.
The boy drowned later in the year. It was cold out, early winter. I think. It’s hard to recall the horrors of that evening. Time means nothing to me now. What matters is a boy is dead and I am paying the price for it, regardless of my guilt or innocence. I regret that he won’t ever have a future. He will never know the love she and I held so dearly. And I am sorry that it happened this way, but we all have a destiny. Perhaps his time was up in that instance.
You have the wrong man!
Let me out of here!
The door opens, and I panic breathlessly. Thrashing about, I scream: “No, no! You have the wrong man! I am innocent! Please!”
More Guards file in to restrain me from frantically convulsing in sheer terror. Three demons in flesh suits carry me into the well-lit room.
This is it. This is the end. There is no miracle to save me. Not anymore.
I thought the electric chair was no longer in operation. It’s still warm and smells of the charred flesh of the victims before me. I am forced into the seat. The fork-tongued Guards pin my ankles to the contraption and strap my arms down to immobilize me.
“Please, please let me go. I couldn’t have killed the little boy! I was home with my fiancé. I was nowhere near him.”
The Executioner looks at me coldly, then down at his file. He looks back up, a small grin creeps on his face, and his burning yellow eyes pierce what’s left of my soul.
“Mr. Higgins, people in your situation always tell me the same thing. That they couldn’t possibly have carried out these crimes, these atrocities, these tragedies. It’s all an accident, a misunderstanding, they say. ‘Please don’t let me die,’ they plead. You have been rotting here for twenty-seven years. How much do you remember about that night?”
“I know I didn’t kill that boy! I am not the kind of person who could do such a thing. I swear! Please! Let me go!”
“How are you so sure?” The yellow-eyed Exocutioner taunts. “How is anyone sure of their innocence when we are all capable of so many great evils?”
“What reason would I have to drown a little boy? Whatever happened to him was an accident. A goddamn accident! I would have tried to save…”
“Mr. Higgins, do you have any last requests?” The Exocutioner asks through sharpened fangs.
“I want to see her!”
“See who?”
“My love!”
“And what is her name today, this ‘love‘ of yours?”
“I can’t remember…”
“Perhaps we forgot to give her a name this time,” he says. “The physiological response to this oversight is remarkable. We will have to remember this for tomorrow.”
“What the Hell are you talking about?”
“Mr. Higgins, we’ve been through this for the past twenty-seven years. You know the truth, which you have polluted to yourself. Just because you choose not to believe it, does not mean it is not your reality.”
The Red Guards press a soaked sponge to my head and drench my scalp in cold water, and they begin to anoint me with the electrical crown.
“Please,” I grovel before him.
“Mr. Higgins, how many days must we do this? Until I tire of this? No. Until you come to the realization that you are the monster at the end of this story? Perhaps. Today it’s electrocution. Tomorrow, maybe a firing squad. I haven’t quite decided yet. You’ve been living out your own death every day, the same as every sorry bastard that’s condemned here. After all, time means nothing in this Place. Sadly, you won’t remember a thing when we place you back in your cell. I wonder what her name and face will be tomorrow. Stop your groveling. I’ve grown tired of it over the years. Let’s get on with it, Mr. Higgins.”
Now I know who I am facing. The forked tongue, yellow-eyed monster stares at me with his poisonous grin, and yet, somehow, he is the innocent one. As he clenches his pringed scepter, he bites a forbidden fruit with his razor teeth and laughs as the machine begins to roar.
I can hear the machine fire up, and I will soon be dead. They are about to flip the switch.
Amelia. Her name was Amelia.
The switch fires, and an electrical current rushes into my head.
Amelia, I love –
I awake in a pool of sweat, gasping for air. I stare at the photograph above my cot. It’s one of my favorites. She and I are on a beach somewhere. Her blonde hair is striking. I wish I could remember her name.
Time does not move in this place. We spend our moments anxiously contemplating if today is today. Is tomorrow yesterday? There is no time here. Just the sound of ticks. Tick. Tick. Tick. Never a tock. The sound of the relenting metronome ticks on. We are never free.
I hear the voices of guards. I think.
I hear a knock. “Inmate! It’s time to go,” a stern voice says. It has come.
Today is the day I die.
