Temporary Title

The Execution

Hello, quick warning for minor gore and just some fucked up ideas in general. also, this one is kinda short, only a little over 600 words. 

I'm rudely woken up by a tall man dressed in all black, carrying what must be some type of firearm. As soon as he leaves, his spot next to the bed is replaced by the woman from the last time I saw Judas. The last time I saw him, when we kissed and those guards took him away.

"It's time. Get up, follow me," her voice is strict- rigid and intimidating. I don't dare disobey her, throwing myself off of the mattress as she exits the room. She leads me to the theater-auditorium thing, the room I've only been in a few times, and none of them leaving very good memories. There's already a crowd of other people, ranging from what looks like about ten to twenty. The woman doesn't stop at the back of the room, no, she brings me to the front, all the way to the front, sitting me down in the throne-like chair that's usually reserved for her. There's a guillotine structure set up on the stage, a large, metallic bucket underneath it. The woman gracefully makes her way up in front of the machine, messing with some sort of device on the neck of her blouse that I didn't notice before. There's a screech that rings through the auditorium, making everyone buckle under the noise.

"Welcome everyone," her voice booms over the speakers, "welcome to the formal execution of Judas Smith. Afterwards, you will be reporting back to your rooms. The only exception to this is you," she points directly at me, an evil grin on her mouth, "You will be staying here. Any questions?"

Her ending note is very obviously rhetorical. She steps down from the stage, standing next to me. A curt nod is given to the man in red. There's some commotion backstage, screaming and yelling, before Judas is shoved through a gap in the heavy velvet curtain. They try to pick him up and force him onto the murderous mechanism, but each time they manage to push him down, he gets back up, fighting for his life every moment that he can. Eventually, however, the woman next to me becomes too frustrated to deal with the on-stage antics.

"Just shoot him."

There's a bang, a flash, and a thud as Judas's body hits the planks below him. Blood is spilling out of a circular hole in his forehead, painting the floor a solid shade of scarlet. Part of me wants to scream, either in shock or in anger, but at the same time, I can't feel anything. There's no emotion to be felt, I knew I was going to lose him, so why should I cry now that the inevitable has occurred?

The rest of the crowd is dismissed, heading to their rooms to talk to each of their roommates about what just happened, even though it's been seen before. And I just sit in the throne-like chair as I watch the man in red drain the red from Judas's body. And I watch as they pick up the bucket roll of blood and carry it backstage. And I listen when the woman guides me back with them, and I obey when they tell me to get in a new metallic vessel, and I don't complain when they pour Judas's Ichor over my head. I don't bother thinking about how it should've been me, or how warm or sticky the red liquid is around me, or how I'm stuck here against my will, no. I don't think. I do everything in my power to not think, because if I did, I'd probably cry. I'd cry over how much I miss Tobias, and how unfair it is that the world is the way it is, and I'd cry over how I just watched someone get killed and now I'm sitting in a bath of their blood.