One Thing Left To Wish For

Prologue

They strapped me down to the table from the knees up, stopping at my wrists. The silver glass room started to get smaller each minute I laid there awaiting my death. As one of the officers read my rights and convictions for the last time, one of the doctors began to set up the machine to ready the lethal injections. 

When I looked over to the window, I saw Thomas standing over the glass staring off into space. We locked eyes for a mere three seconds; a telepathic conversation passing between us.

I deserved to die.

The satisfied smile on his face made my stomach twist in knots. I've never liked Thomas. He would always tell my parents to be more aggressive towards me, that I was getting out of control. Thomas always got me on my nerves, he was the only person who had the nerve to actually stand up to me. He's one of the many reasons I did what I did five years ago.  

The shrill beeping in the room breaks my train of thought. The machine has shut down for some odd reason. The doctor tries to tinker with it, but it won't cooperate. Figuring there is no hope in trying to revive it, he leaves the small room and talks to the other officers outside. 

 

He goes to get a new machine.

I send a silent thank you to God for sparing me an extra five minutes of life. I know I'm not quite ready to end this yet. 

I look over at the window again to see Thomas, instead, with a look of annoyance plastered to his face. You would think a man like himself would have at least a tad bit of remorse for the almost-dead. I give him a small wink and smile just to annoy him even more. Thomas quickly turns his head and walks away. 

Honestly, I think it's quite pathetic that it took five years for the authorities to figure out it was me all along who started the fire. And they expect for people to depend on them when they need help?  

My moment of astonishment and self-accomplishment crashes to an end in an instant.

The doctor is back with a new machine.