A Nice Way To Go

                 

It has been fifteen years since I was sentenced to this institute. The walls are as white as computer paper and as unforgiving as the paper cut they cause. The lights above are glaringly bright and artificial. I'm told that staring into them can potentially cause blindness, however after fifteen years of staring just as hard back at them I can see just fine.

I'd just finished the best meal I'd ever eaten. Some call it "The Last Meal" though I choose to call it compensation for the life they're about to take. As if a steak could compare to a soul.

I admire them. My victims did not get so nice a treatment before their final breath.

"Marcus Daniel Jackson." Came a voice from the doorway.

My face broke into a mischievous, unwavering smile, lips cracking from lack of use.

"Is it time?" I asked him, my voice laced with eagerness.

The officer at the door nodded stiffly and motioned me forward. Outside the door waited several more officers with heavy artillery and uncomfortable uniforms. I feel pity towards them. They go day in and day out doing the same thing every day: escorting defenseless criminals to their inevitable demise.

As we walk the long expanse of hallway, I could not help but look back on the choices I have made throughout my life.

I have killed too many to count on two hands, maybe even four. Every kill is engraved in my memory, some getting tangled with others to form one gruesome horror story. I know I should feel an ounce of remorse, but the thing is, I don't.

We arrive at the room and everyone moves quickly as though they want to be rid of me as soon as possible. They sit me in a chair with a tattered, well-worn cushion.

My mind wanders to my last victim as my hands and feet are strapped to the cold chair. Her murder was one I am most proud of. I feel the same excitement as I did fifteen years ago before her death.

They lift the needle and flick the glass whether to scare me or get it ready I could not decide.

"Your last words?" A particularly stout officer asked from in front of me.

My eyes wandered to his as I consider his question.

"Funny how the only difference between you and me is that you are given orders to murder while I do it of my own free will."

The officer's face remains stoic as he brings the needle up to my neck. The only thing running through my head is the fact that this is the way one of my victims went down.

How peaceful he must have felt with this cool liquid running through his veins.

The liquid begins to solidify until the only things able to move are my eyes. I looked at the officer with his cold expression and chuckled.

What a nice way to go.