Electric Chair

Electric Chair
By: Lady Lolita

Story blurb: This is from the point of view of a man about to be taken to the electric chair for a crime that he did not commit.

Warnings: Death, much angst, POV (point of view)

I've lived in this cell for a few years, on death row for a crime that I didn't commit. No amount of legal action that was taken had been able to get me off. The man that really did it got off scot-free. At least I was allowed a few years to think about what happened. Or, maybe, that was one of the cruelest things somebody could have done for me. Let me sit here and think, day after day, year after year, how I was going to die for something I didn't do, but the man that really did it was probably sitting somewhere watching the news and laughing at me, while drinking himself stupid just because he was free to do so.

I'm in one of the few states that still sends people to the electric chair. And, that's my fate. Soon, I'm going to take my final walk, right to my death. They'll have a priest here first, of course. I don't really need one, because I know I'm innocent of the crime.

During my time here in this God forsaken cell, I did wonder if there really was a God, or if there was even a place people went after death. Was it just one chance at life and then you don't exist anymore? Are we all already in Hell for something terrible that we did in our past life, and every time we die we just start over again? If so...what was the point?

If there really is a God, then why did he allow this to happen to me? Why am I being punished? Why is the guy that really committed all the sins having all the favor of God? Is he supposed to be given a chance to see the error of his ways, instead of think of how stupid he was for getting caught? Then, why do I have to pay for his crime?

I can hear the answer to my question by way of the sound of a thousand religious leaders that all worship my God. It doesn't matter, because I will go to paradise soon, and he will go to Hell the moment he dies. Why don't I buy that the way I used to? Because, I can't fathom that, anymore.

So, maybe, I do need a priest, after all. I need somebody to reassure me that I'm not going to just stop existing after my experience with the electric chair, and that I'm not going to be driven insane by relieving my life over and over again, just to die in the electric chair every time.

Today is my birthday. I'm 35 years old today. I lived just long enough to turn thirty-five and then I get electrocuted. You know, I wish magic were real. Then, I could just disappear from this cell and reappear in a place nobody knew about what I was convicted for, nobody knew who I was, had never seen or heard of me or the trial or anything else. Then, I could live until I got so old my heart just stopped on its own.

And, yet...something inside tells me that I'm ready to go ahead with the electrocution. I'm tired of waiting, and thinking. I'd like it all to be over soon. I guess, the reluctance is just the fact that I don't know what's going to happen afterward. Will I become a spirit, a ghost, that doesn't know how to get to where he needs to go, so I just become part of a story people tell about hauntings? There have been too many sightings of ghosts for me not to believe they're there. Just like UFOs and shit.

I have no shame in saying that. Why should I? I'm going to die a man that everybody hates, while the man that is really dangerous, the man that really did all those terrible things, is completely free. He could be anybody's next door neighbor, might even be a teacher in a school, teaching innocent children, until one day something inside of him snaps again and he does something else. Maybe, something involving innocent children, and something worse than what I got stuck in here for.

Truth is, nobody really wanted to worry about whether or not I was REALLY the man that did the crimes. Do you know why? They were so scared, they just had to put SOMEbody on death row, just to calm their own shaking nerves, and be sure that their nightmares wouldn't be as bad, that their children were safer. As long as they could convince their selves, and everyone else that I was the one that did it, they could believe it and everything would be all right.

But, they've got another thing coming. Somebody being put away and sentenced to death means ABSOLUTELY nothing, if they didn't REALLY do it. It doesn't scare the person that really did it. It amuses them to no end, trust me, I've had a lot of time to think about what I'd do if I were the guy that got away. I'd be laughing at the guy that got convicted and sentenced to death in my place, because that unlucky fool is paying for MY crime.

Too bad, I'm not really the guy that did it. Then, I'd get away free. Do you think that thinking like that will make me go to Hell? I'm not so sure I care anymore.

Oh, here's the priest. For a minute there, I thought they were going to come and take me away without having one. He's an older man, with a solemn, pitying face. Maybe, he's convinced I'm going to go to Hell for what I did.

It certainly sounds like it in the tone of his voice, when he starts talking. I listen, but I don't say anything, I don't talk to him. Telling him that I didn't do it would be a waste of my time and breath. When I first got in here, I'd tell anybody who'd listen that I was innocent. But, it's just a waste of time. Nobody listens to you, and when they do nobody believes you.

Even if I got out of here, nothing would be the same. I was still convicted, and I was still sentenced to death. Everybody except the people that let me out would think I was guilty.

If anyone can't fathom that they would look at someone in such a way, just think about this. Look at a next-door neighbor. What would any normal person think if they found out their neighbor had, at one time, been convicted of a crime so terrible and disgusted that they were sentenced to death, but somehow got off? Would they think, "oh it's lucky for him/her that they were able to prove they were innocent before they were murdered!" or would they think, "Oh my God, I have to move, my children aren't safe!"

Anyone can pretend they wouldn't be suspicious, if they really want to. They can pretend they wouldn't do such a thing as to judge their neighbor, that they'd love them as the Good Book says. But, everyone really knows what they'd really do. Even me. They would think they had to move right away, to keep just themselves, or to keep their family, safe.

So, now that I've been put in here, maybe it's a good thing they're going to put me out of my misery. Like a dog in pain with an incurable ailment.

I wonder, if there is a God, will he punish the people that put me in here, that helped put me in here, and that threw the switch? I don't know if I even care, anymore. I used to want revenge, even if I wasn't the one to hand it out. But, now, I just want it to be over.

Oh, here, they're opening the door again. Yes, this time they're going to take me down to the Chair, because they've brought shackles with them this time. To make sure I don't try to make a run for it, and don't get any funny ideas about hurting the guards, or anybody else. Is the priest going to follow me, like they do in the movies, reading to me from the Good Book the entire time? A part of me hopes so. That way, I won't feel so alone. At least one person is here that isn't sentencing me to death. Somebody that's trying to ensure I get to paradise. To make sure I know what I did wrong, and that I do everything I can, even if it is just limited to realization and prayer, to get right with God.

Doesn't that sound selfish? Wanting to get right with God JUST so you can spend the rest of your eternity in paradise? I don't know. It's not for me to decide, anyway. After I stopped trying to convince people I was innocent, and stopped praying that somebody would find me innocent, I started real praying and talking to God. Most people here had already given up on God. For some reason, I was one of the VERY few who didn't. Though, I did question him. Still do.

I have so many questions that I don't have the answers to, still. And, I'll never get the answers to them, now. I realize that, as they lead me away from my cell, at a walk slow enough so that I don't trip because of the shackles at my ankles, though the chain is long enough to make for normal strides just not running. What do you know? The priest does follow. At least, I think that's him. I'm not really listening anymore.

Soon enough, I'm led to the Chair, and sat down in it, strapped down, and everything. This is like something out of a movie or a nightmare. It can't really be happening...but...it is. And, I find that I'm more at ease with it than I thought possible.

They're saying something, but I'm not listening to them. It seems like forever, but maybe that's just because I'm waiting. I know I'm innocent. I didn't do it. But, everybody thinks I did, and that's enough for them. Maybe, one day they'll be able to prove I didn't do it, though it'll be too late for me. I wonder what they'll think of themselves when they find out they executed an innocent man.

But, you know, as I watch them checking things again, the grim expressions on their faces, I don't care anymore. I have no say in what's going to happen, and for the first time, I don't care. Is this what it feels like to accept my fate? Is this what it feels like to be ready to die? Who would have thought I'd be ready for this at 35?

"My name is Dyron Brock. And, I am innocent." Those are the last things I'm going to ever say, my last words, that fall on deaf ears. And, they finally throw the switch.




The End