Death Collects Harold Longacre

The condemned man calmly strolled down the corridor in cuffs that shackled both of his hands and feet. In addition, two armed guards followed behind studying his every breath, movement and glance while another led the way to the chamber. He had just finished his bacon cheeseburger, fries and chocolate shake. His stomach was uncomfortably full and he could taste ketchup and beef on his tongue. This was the moment every man waits his whole life for. Death was knocking at his door. Appeal after appeal had flown by him like the birds he could see out his cell window. Seventeen long, tedious, and painful years had left him a body with no soul, no dreams, and no hope. Today was the only day he'd ever had to look forward to. Today he died.

As the door opened he saw his murderer preparing the chair. It was more ghastly and fearsome than he'd ever imagined it to be; more so than he'd imagined it as the judge had passed down his sentence on a bitter winter morning seventeen years ago. His blood surged through his body and a lightheadedness came over him. He felt weak but continued the final footsteps to his destiny. To his doom. The guards removed his cuffs, sat him down forcefully and strapped his hands and legs into the chair while the executioner made his final preparations. He began thinking of his life before imprisonment. It all seemed like another life he'd been watching happen from afar. Like a television episode he could not remember the details of. As the face of his daughter made its way vaguely into his memory, the executioner spoke and her face was forever gone. 

"Mr. Harold Longacre, you have been found guilty of the crime of murder. You are to be executed by electruction. Have you any final words?" Harold could see people through a window, sitting in chairs and waiting, with no doubt the utmost impatience, for him to be murdered. He cleared his throat.

"My only wish is for all of you to recognize the incredibly humorous amount of irony in this situation. Here I am, the only innocent being in this room. You, executioner, shall be my murderer on this day. You shall see no trial. You folks in that booth: you on this day shall be witness to this murder. You shall have no finer satisfaction than to see it through. Remember my face on this day, for it shall serve as a reminder that death plays no favorites. Death does not recognize justice as carelessly as his clients. Death is all our savior and I am prepared to meet him. Kill me."

The executioner did nothing. He seemed to have momentarily gone to a faraway place. 

Harold looked into his eyes and shouted, "KILL ME, MURDERER!"

The executioner hesitated no longer. The switch went down and Harold let out a shriek before his vocal cords were burned away. The family never let their eyes off of him until his body slumped and he was finally free.