'Try not to think about it', I thought to myself - but it doesn't work, does it? As a piece of advice it's up there with telling the broken-hearted there are 'plenty more fish in the sea' or encouraging a person with depression to 'cheer up.'
It’s the question that affects us all: the wealthy, the poor, the old, the young. At some point everyone is confronted with it. What happens when we close our eyes for the last time? Does our spirit leave the fleshy vehicle of the body behind, and float to a new plane; legs, arms and eyes no longer required? It seems unlikely. Or do we return to the infinite oblivion that preceded our existence just a few decades ago? Everyone finds out in the end, yet nobody ever knows.
Why is it so frightening to be afraid of nothing? There's nothing to be afraid of. But I don't want nothing. I am not ready.
The electrode stuck to my shaved scalp pulls at the skin as I turn my head to look at the prison warden attach a second electrode to my leg. He tightens the leather straps that bind my wrists to the chair, and nods to the doctors in the observation room before pulling a blindfold over my eyes. I am plunged into darkness.
I didn't do it. I do not deserve this. But my pleas fell on deaf ears. I brace myself and whisper a prayer to a god I've never believed in. Wherever we go when we die, I hope at least my journey there is swift.
Issue 6 & 7
The Stories & Poems
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