Hi Board Jamesblr
I wrote this two years ago but found it again today so I'm putting it here for y'all to enjoy. I was inspired by this tag on AO3:
Total length: 611 words
Trigger warnings for: Electric chair usage (Which all further warnings are spawned from), puke (For less than a sentence), eye gore (For about one sentence)
Cold steel.
A sensation that’s haunted him for years now. The cold steel of a knife’s edge, the chill of handcuffs, the icy touch of jail bars, and finally? The cold metal of the electric chair. He didn’t go peacefully, he went kicking and screaming. It wasn’t him! It was the goddamn phone! But who was going to believe him? The jury sure didn’t. He should have just gone with the insanity plea his lawyer had offered but he was nothing if not stubborn, and that stubbornness had gotten him here; strapped into the last chair he’d ever sit in.
“Does the condemned have any final words?”
Board James glared at the executioner, then at the jackals sitting in the viewing room, just waiting to watch him fry. Did he have any last words for them? Was there a point? Nah, not really, but he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of silence or the relief of an apology.
Breaking into a slow smile as he locked eyes with the executioner, he rasped out a single, simple phrase.
“Better get it right the first time, or I’ll be back.”
May God have mercy on your soul. That wasn’t the last thing he heard, the last thing he heard before the electricity started ripping through his body was the switch. That soft click was his coffin slamming shut.
The first thing he felt? Blinding, unimaginable pain. Blinding light filled his vision, his whole body tensing and shaking like a blender full of bolts. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth cracked, fingers feeling like they were breaking as he gripped the armrests of the chair. He can taste copper, his blood feels like it’s boiling.
To his credit, he made it a good two seconds before screaming bloody murder.
His back arches violently against the restraints as something starts to flow down his face. He barely has enough presence of mind to realize it’s not tears, but what was left of his eyes, the globs of ocular tissue running down his cheeks like egg whites. Up came his last meal, then more of the same, coppery taste as a mix of bile and blood spilled down his chin.
He can smell something sickly sweet, not that it even registers in his mind that this is his flesh cooking, then burning.
And just like that, it’s over. Two minutes spent riding the lightning.
For a moment, all he can do is sit there, sizzling. A pained moan leaves his charred lips, informing those present that he’s ready for a second round. It takes an agonizing minute or so for the chair to warm back up, leaving him wondering. Were they just going to leave him here like this? Do they not know he’s alive? How is he alive, isn’t this supposed to be lethal? It’s too quiet, is he alone in here? Fuck, something smells good- Wait, no, that’s just him. A small, pained smile spreads across his features when he realizes that the smell of cooked meat is coming from himself. Of all the crimes he’d committed, he skipped out on cannibalism, and now he’d never get the chance again. Figures.
Lifting his head in the vague direction he remembered the viewing window to be at, he wanted to say something. Anything. Just- One more jab at the people who were sick enough in the head to watch a man die on the chair, but all that came out was a gurgle. Well that was disappointing. Oh well. He’s sure that the sight of his charred, disgusting face would haunt them enough.
Oh, there’s that click again, time for round two.