By Raizel Laverne
My name is Francis Elrod, and I am a prisoner at the Questa Verde prison. I am in prison for the murder of a rapist, my sentence is 24 years. The court said that I was going to prison because murder is murder, but others say it was my unapologetic, cold nature. I did get a reduced sentence because I did kill a rapist, saving a girl from him, and even though many argued that because I saved her I shouldn't go to prison, here I am, rotting in this cell. I have been here for 12 years, halfway done, and the guards tell me that on my 14th year, I might get parole.
During my 12 years, I have been a model prisoner, helping when I can, cleaning, even helping the guards and the warden. I have made many friends, mainly among the guards, but my best friend, is the guy you go to when you want something smuggled in, and it pays to be his best friend. 6 years ago, the warden introduced a new policy, every year we would go into a dark room, where a guillotine sat, and we would lie down in it. If we caused too many problems, we would die, then and there. While we would lie there, the warden and some guards would stand behind some glass reviewing our files and would give the executioner a green light if we were free to go, or a red light for him to let the blade fall.
Every year, for 6 years this would happen, and tomorrow, it happens again. I have made friends with the executioner, and with the warden's permission, we sometimes share a drink, the warden got some as well, of course, and we would just chat about the outside world, our lives, and even what we wanted our futures to look like. As I sit in my cell, I think about my 12 years here, and how it's not at all what movies and shows made prison out to be.
As my cell door opens I wake up and get ready for the executioner. I get to the line in no hurry, but still, end up 5th in line. I can see some of the inmates shifting nervously, some of them look terrified. The doors opened slowly, the hinges creaking, and the first person went in. The doors slam shut, and from the other side I faintly hear the guillotine slam down, and a small scream. The doors open, the second person goes in. After 30 minutes, he walked out, tears welling up in his eyes, and he had a small smile. The two in front of me are called in, neither of them walked back out. The woman in front of me is shaking and crying, I place my hand on her shoulder, and give her a reassuring smile. She looks back at me and nods.
She walks into the room, where her fate will be decided. As the doors shut, I think back on my year, trying to find out if I will live. Only one bad thing this year pops into my head, and that was I fought someone because he said I should have let the girl I saved get raped. I get snapped out of my thoughts by the doors opening, and the woman walking out crying. My turn. I walk into the dimly lit room. I look up and see two more spiders have appeared since last year. My gaze turns to the guillotine and I see the light gleaming off of it.
I look at the blade, the old scratched blade, that has started to rust, and being held by a frayed length of rope. I am told to lie under for judgment, and I do as I am told. As I lie down, the executioner smiles at me, and I smile back. He whispers to me "no way they'll kill you, you are a model prisoner.'' I give him an "I hope so" look and I wait. After what seemed like an hour, I faintly saw a green light. I silently sigh relieved. Then I see the executioner's face fall, and I see a red light on his face. He knows it's his job to kill me, but he still tried to protest. I tell him that if it's my time, it's my time and that I'll see him on the other side. He tells me he's sorry, as a tear falls down his cheek. I see the blade fall in slow motion, and my old friends flash in my mind. I feel the blade make contact, and my skin starts to separate. As the blade goes through my neck, I lose the ability to breathe. I close my eyes with a tear falling down my face. I faintly feel my head impact the ground and then, nothing. I brace myself for what comes after death.
