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More Details. Add to Read List. I was at the execution merely by chance that day. No one wanted the job to report from the gallows. After several blatant refusals from those fiercely opposed to capital punishment, the boss flung the asment down on my desk as a way of relieving the curse. I had never been to an execution before, nor had I ever seen one on the television or anywhere else. You killed somebody, you deserve the same. The events following brought me to the realization that, if I had to, I would not have the strength of heart to kill.
I arrived at the chamber half an hour early, taking in the surroundings, feeling the mood. The air was dense inside; it felt like a dragon was breathing long, heated breaths endlessly on your back. I had never Female execution stories fiction a hanging before, but I would not have guessed it would be taking place in the daytime. I had always imagined rain or fog or something a bit creepier.
Nonetheless, it was a seemingly normal sun-shiny day. As the minutes ticked away, more people filed into the building. There was a man who came to stand near me; he had a fidgety personality that day. He constantly massaged the back of his neck and glanced quickly at the looming pedestal every few seconds.
He looked about for someone, perhaps a familiar or friendly face. This man was alone, not just in person but also in spirit. It was a visible pain that shone in his face. He was lost. There was then an old couple; the husband stern and angry, the wife anxious and chattering inaudibly like a frightened bird. When she caught sight of the solitary man, she made an awkward movement. The man avoided their gaze and inched almost unnoticeably from them. His neck reddened furiously, irritated by his nervous mannerisms. I watched as the woman half-heartedly ignored the man and followed her husband across the room.
Then came the condemned. A bomb of tension had dropped in that building. The walls become higher and closer, like a deep pit. The air was no longer dense, but instead was suffocating, as if Death himself stood behind us, choking us with his scythe. The accused was a mere remnant of a woman, as if the stress of the trial had waned away her muscle. Her long hair dangled on the top of head like a mop. One could see the shine of a bulging eye, a tinge of terror was streaked across her face. Her pupils dilated and shifted about the room in a disturbing paranoia, her mouth agape in true confusion.
The nervous man finally stood rigid at the sight of her, his fists clenched with white knuckles. At the sight of him the woman sucked in thick air and stopped moving towards the pedestal. The guard nudged her, a to keep moving. She would not shift her gaze from him despite moving along. John preferred to stare at the floor.
The old couple shifted closer as the accused shuffled towards them. They were her parents. The father supported her with a firm hand. A priest stood and recited a prayer. She thought the voice sounded familiar, and she looked up into his face. You married me and John. The executioner was a menacing man, he stood nearly a foot over the accused, and she began to tremble uncontrollably as he put the noose around her neck. The woman looked out through Female execution stories fiction building, locking eyes with each and every one of us.
John looked up from the floor. The guards stood back as the executioner eached for the lever. The cacophonous noise of a trap door creaking and a neck snapping told us the deed was done. And what a devilish deed it was. My eyes could not turn away from the faint figure floating above the floor. The toes pointed downward as if trying to reach the solid floor, trying to stop the inevitable doom. My mouth was dried from the sour air, a stagnant smell seemed to disseminate around the room. All was quiet. As we filed out of the dead room, I felt like something was missing; as if I had left a pen or my bag, or even my foot back in the room.
The sun was blinding.
The day was no longer beautiful. It was as if the sun was mocking the dead by shining its light through the clouds.
The world kept turning and others kept living, leaving people like John and the old couple in its dust. I left that day with the understanding that there was no good done that day; no justice dealt. Just a mindless killing, no better than that of murderer herself. Literary Fiction short story hanging class execution asment witness ficiton. My God your english teacher gives you some very dark subjects to write about! Nice story I liked the way you built the tension by putting the center of attention of someone who had never seen a hanging before. As an idea for further research you might want to look up Albert Pierrepoint.
I always thought it woul be intresting to try and go inside the mind of person who hangs people as if it's a normal job. Albert Pierrepoint was one such person. The fastest hangman in the UK and prided himself for how fast he could hang a person. In his day job he was an owner of a bar.
He also hung all the Nazi after the wall trials and even hung one of his friends. He even hung a person that they later found out was innocent. Yet even on this death bed he felt he had done nothing wrong, and has servred his Queen and Country. Author Reply. Yes, he does! He likes to get the most intense areas of our imaginations working, I think. Thanks for the comment, and I'll research Mr.
Pierrepoint very soon! Why do we kill people who kill people to show that killing people is wrong? Ugrade to Premium Membership to feature this review at the top of your content and also on listings across the site. Five Ways to You. A Witness at An Execution. On the Shore of the Sea. Drag a picture from your file manager into this box, or click to select. Insert Cancel.
Cannot annotate a non-flat selection. Make sure your selection starts and ends within the same node. Post Your Writing. Facebook Twitter Reddit Pinterest Invite. I did not hold a strong viewpoint on the case of capital punishment; half of me really did Female execution stories fiction care, and if the question happened to come up I would simply reply:.
The mother reached out her hand and as their identical eyes locked her daughter offered only a tiny phrase without stopping:. They had reached the pedestal now, she and the guards. She continued:. Add Your Comments:.
Order by Oldest Newest. Sixbells My God your english teacher gives you some very dark subjects to write about! Sat, April 25th, pm. Author Reply Yes, he does! Sun, April 26th, am. Author Reply Thank you so much! That's great to hear or Wed, July 28th, pm. DouglasASteel excellent essay and I know exactly how evil and dark English teachers can be Wed, August 11th, pm. Become a Premium Member. More Literary Fiction Short Stories. My Father's Camera by dtownchitown.Female execution stories fiction
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Women and the Noose: A History of Female Execution