I don’t remember what happened. I consider myself a law-abiding citizen, I’d never harm anyone, not even a fly. I don’t remember how I got here or what is happening but I figured I’d post here in case anyone here has any idea what the heck is going on.
30 days I’ve been in this desolate little cell. The reason I know is because of a calendar on the computer. It’s a desktop which has seen better days, the letter markings on most of the keys are worn and barely visible, and the screen has this lemon-y tint to it that fails to be corrected no matter the settings I apply to the screen. The OS appears to be Windows 7 and it takes ages just to get anything to run on it. In regards to the rest of my cell, all I have is a firm mattress and a pillow with no blanket, a toilet to pee and crap in, and of course, the aforementioned desktop computer, located on a pathetically small desk. I’ve been trying for days to get access to the internet to no avail, I’m hoping this message goes through.
I recently woke up after a quick nap since there’s nothing to do. I nap often to pass the time. My computer clock reads ‘‘16:44’. Directly above my cell there’s a little window. Too small for me to escape, but large enough I can see that it’s sunset. Normally that wouldn’t be too unusual given the time and all, but it’s been sunset for 30 days straight non stop. No matter what time it is, there’s still this sickly marigold glow constantly shining into my cell. It’s never cloudy, the sky looks the exact same every day all day.
I know the exact routine off-hand now: At 6 PM, my ears are suddenly greeted by the sound of heavy footsteps, subsequently accompanied by a ‘CLICK-CLACK’ of my cell door being opened. I see the warden. He’s a tall blond man about 50 years old of average but mildly muscular build. His piercing blue eyes interlock with mine. He says, closing his eyes accompanied by a swift nod: ‘‘it’s time’’.
Two muscular guards come into my cell and they handcuff me. This has happened to me so many times that I’ve exhausted all options. No matter how hard I resist, the end result is always the same. I almost start to miss that sickly marigold glow of the sunset through the tiny window in my cell as I am being escorted by the two guards through a corridor. I’m in shackles and I can’t walk fast, but the guards try and force me to.
Every time I’m executed, it’s in the same electric chair 29 executions prior. I can vividly remember the very chair that is going to kill me for the 30th time: it’s completely black, but still of obvious wooden construction. It’s a lot more modern looking compared to other electric chairs that pop culture is used to. For one, it doesn’t have those leather straps. It has nylon fast-release straps, not too dissimilar to those that you would see in the seat of an airliner. The click-in pieces are made out of a shiny metal. There’s one strap for each ankle, one at the lap, one for each wrist, one for each shoulder, and finally an X-shaped fast-release harness. Looking at this thing, you’d think its design was having an identity crisis of futuristic and medieval. The wires for the ankle electrodes are almost an inch thick in diameter and situated on the back of the chair is a large leather backrest.
The two guards escort me to the room that the chair calls home. The room is brightly lit, a sharp contrast between the dank corridor I was just in. The walls are made of white marble panels. The floor is a yellowish marble color, and the room feels slightly too large for just an electric chair to be in it. Positioned smack-bang in the middle of the room was yours truly. I sit down on the chair. It feels considerably less comfortable than an ordinary chair. I feel the coldness of the leather backrest against my upper neck and head. As my arms are being fastened to the chair’s armrests, I notice how cold the chair itself feels and I get goosebumps.
It takes what feels like ten minutes between me sitting in the chair and the guards finishing strapping me into the chair. After they have done so, one of them moves the big leather backwards forwards by an inch or two, to prevent grounding. I hear a slight leathery ‘‘cre-e-e-eeek’’ sound as it is being moved forwards. I’m not even asked for my last words before the guards fasten a leather mask around my head, which completely covers my mouth area so as to make coherent speaking impossible.
I was expecting the warden to read a death warrant of some sort, to get an understanding, some closure as to what I did so wrong that made this such a fitting punishment for me. The warden instead just stares at me for five minutes straight with a smirk. I don’t get it - they look completely frozen in time as if someone hit a pause button. After a couple of seconds, the two guards do the same as him. They look completely frozen in time, but I look to my right towards the clock, and I see the hand of the clock moving normally..
After a couple minutes have passed, the warden breaks the deafening silence. He utters one word with a nod: ‘‘Time.’’
A few seconds later I hear what sounds like a jet engine spooling up. It is a high pitched whir that gets more high pitched the closer it is to attaining full power. At that mark, I suddenly feel what feels like a mixture of intense tickling and pain. If you’ve ever been tickled so hard your lungs are spasming and you can’t breathe, that’s what it feels like, multiplied by a hundred or so. I feel my body vibrate 60 times per second with the ferocious alternating current. If I had any last words then that’s the least of my worries, since I can’t breathe at all. Ten seconds feels closer to ten minutes.. Thirty seconds feels like thirty minutes. Around the thirty second mark is when I’m overcome with the sensation of dread and despair, as I have not been able to take a breath for thirty seconds. No matter how hard I try, my diaphragm contracts and relaxes rhythmically sixty times per second with the 2000 volt, 8 ampere alternating current. I would let out a scream if I could, but the mask securely tightened around my face both holds my head to the backrest of the chair and prevents me from crying out. Combined with the fact of being in the chair’s firm embrace, I feel as if the electric chair is physically strangling me with its merciless grasp.
At around the 60 second mark, my chest burns so badly from not being able to breathe I consider if it’s possible for my lungs to just explode. I wonder if even if the current was turned off at this point, if I would be able to breathe ever again, my muscles torn and shredded repeatedly many times a second from the relentless current. I can’t wait to go unconscious. I really want this to end. I feel my heart start to fibrillate but the sweet release of death doesn’t happen so fast. Suddenly, the current switches off. But I realize it’s not a malfunction, it’s just the wait period between cycles. For those sweet 10 seconds, I can finally breathe again, but my lungs are so stiff it’s very difficult for me to be able to take in a decent breath. I manage to take about half a breath before the ten second mark is up. I timed it in my head and know what I’m doing is futile.. WHAM! The current hits me again. My lungs were still hurting from the lack of air during the wait period, and I know this second cycle is going to be worse. My vision slowly fades to black as my oxygen levels decrease, and I begin to see specks of blue, green and red in my vision. My muscles are spasming like crazy, but all I can think about is the sweet release of death.
Every single time, I wake up to the sound of the 6 AM alarm as if nothing ever happened.
Am I dreaming? I ask myself. Was that all a dream? I immediately look at my wrists. I see the marks of the electric chair’s straps, as if I had injured myself from straining against them during my electrocution. No.. it isn’t a dream. This keeps happening and I don’t know why. No matter what I do the result is exactly the same. Today will mark the 30th time this has happened. You never get used to the feeling of being electrocuted. My computer clock now reads ‘‘17:57’’..
That sickening orange glow still pesters me..