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The Execution

I shambled up to the stage, shuffling as not to trip myself on the unforgiving chains binding my ankles together. The stink of my breath clogged my nostrils, and moistened the thick, scratchy cloth that covered my head. I felt the calloused hand of the guard grip my arm, leading me to the block. I despaired, tears mixing with the sweat pouring down my face, on the fact that his hand was the last I would ever feel. We reached the top of the stage. The hood was yanked off my head. I was momentarily blinded by the light of midday. My eyes soon cleared, and they were met by an spiteful sight, the guillotine, looming like an ominous storm cloud.
Past that was a sight equally hostile, the jeering crowd. My mouth was suddenly parched and my knees turned to liquid. The guard’s steady hand was the only thing keeping me from tumbling over. He led me to my end. The guard kicked at my legs, forcing me to kneel. My head was forced into the hole. Splinters bit into my neck. I closed my eyes. In my mind’s eye, I could see my beautiful Isabel, pregnant with my baby. I knew I would never see them again. A single tear ran down my cheek. Thwack!



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