SHORT STORIES : Writing & Dialogue Prompts

7 Minutes

Seven minutes.

Seven minutes are all I have before my time is up, until I'm dragged away from this plane of existence and dumped to another one, if there even is another one.

I know that with these few minutes I have, I'm supposed to prepare myself, prepare for the inevitable moment which spells my certain and unavoidable demise.

It is untrue to say that I've exceeded my expiration date. I'm young, and relatively healthy. But in the eyes of the Government and its unrelenting law implemented by its ring of officials, I have merely become of no use.

A pest, a piece of vermin. Scum. An irritant. A torment. A menace. A thief.

All I did was take a ring. A ring which I could sell to buy bread to feed the mouths of my household. Food which the rich ate like there was no tomorrow while the poor starved.

Although for me, there was no tomorrow. But I knew their ulterior motive.

To get rid of us. We who are a dirty stain on the white sheet that pictures the government's image.

They think that it's better to kill me, wipe me off the face of this earth and pretend that a contaminant like myself was never there.

But I was there. I am still. At least not for long.

The digital clock on the wall reads five minutes to six. I am to be killed at the break of dawn.

Turning my eyes away from the clock, I look to a plate that rests on a stool in front of where I sit leaning against the cobble stoned walls of my cell.

On it is a loaf of fresh bread. My last request, of sorts.

I dig my thumbs into the centre, breaking the outer crust which emits a hearty crackle, before lifting one of the halves to my face.

Burying my nose into its soft airy centre, I inhale contentedly, ignoring the bitterness I feel as I think of what a loaf like this could bring to my family.

Though my stomach rumbles and begs for me to consume the loaf, the bread remains untouched by my mouth in my hands as I continue to sniff.

Why eat, when in just a mere four minutes, there will be no need for my body to claim any form of nutrition from this bread.

I will be dead before the baked grain even hits my stomach.

The grind of rusted iron pierces the silence of the cell before the cell door slams against the stone wall, sending little pieces of rock to skitter across black leather combat boots.

One of the members of the Guard stand there, clad in a blue-grey suit and cap to match.

His eyes are lowered, avoiding any eye contact, as he forces me to drop my bread and stand before restraining my arms behind my back.

He attaches a chain to my ankles, meant to prevent me from running.

He knows what to expect in the last minute of a man's life. He's seen it before.

The sudden realisation of not ever coming back. The desperation to escape, to flee. The last form of hope, of survival.

But I know my fate written by the law is inescapable, so I am led through the dim hallway where morning's first light from the outside has barely began to shine through the barred windows.

We pass a row of empty cells before we reach another door, I guess it's just me who's leaving early today.

Before the door is even opened, I know what I will see.

The gallows stand before me once I'm past the open door. Wooden beams raising a platform where I will stand, beams that hang a rope.

I'm ushered onto the plank by the guard and the noose is slung over my shoulder by another man with a black mask to hide his identity.

He asks for me to bid him forgiveness for what he must commit.

I do, it's obvious he's not convinced.

Sensing a jerkiness with every move I make on the platform, I look down.

I'm standing on a trap door.

I know that when the executioner pulls the lever, the doors will swing. And so will I.

Before the guard places the woven sack over my head, I'm able to catch one more glimpse of the sun as it rises over the horizon.

It stains the sky a bright red.

A red like my blood, that within a minute, will cease its flow through my body.

With that last image in mind, I wait for the clank of the lever. I wait for the end.

What is only a second seems like years before I feel nothing beneath my feet.

I'm plummeting.

Then I'm gone.