Writing about death has always intrigued me. There is only one thing that you can be sure about and that is that you will someday die. Yet so many of us avoid thinking about it because it is uncomfortable. And though any one of us might day anytime, I think there is an expectation that we will live forever. Prisoners on death row don’t get this luxury. They will die soon yet they don’t know until very close to the moment. I wanted to explore a character who’s accepted his fate just to have a new primal fear thrown into the mix. I hope you enjoy it!
Day 1.
Charlie Rowen rose like he did every day. First with a bash on the door then with cold feet on the floor. Business in a bucket was passed out the door. Naked, he stood staring through the bars at a familiar stone in the opposite wall. The sharp rock had caught many prisoners’ shins as they thrashed their way down the tunnel. Nobody caught it leaving. Nobody struggled when they left.
Rodger’s boots stopped and grew louder again, his booted feet echoing as he strode. It stopped, the slosh of water and the words, “Is it today?”
“Today is not the day.”
The footsteps continued. Slosh.
“Is it today?”
“Today is not the day.”
Slosh.
“Is it today?”
“Today is the day.”
There was no desperate cry for help. The boots just kept coming, the words spinning around his head. When will it be mine? And yet—
Cold water washed over him and he gasped as any remaining sleep was washed out of him. Rodger was skinny for a guard, even those who were kept down here where none of the prisoners could touch them. Not that they would. His stubble put him in his early twenties. Just like Archie. He will be twenty by now. I wonder if he’s learned from his mistakes.
Rodger stood there, patiently holding the bucket by his side, refilled from the channel that ran down the edge of the tunnel. The one that would sometimes rise enough so that Charlie feared it would drown them all. The words.
“Is it today?” He said, shaking his head.
“Today is not the day.”
Still, Rodger stood there, staring at him, considering him. Charlie glanced over his shoulder but there was nothing unusual about his cell.
Then Rodger pulled a slip of parchment from his pocket and sat it on one of the bars. The boots faded and he disappeared from view.
Father
Mother told me what you did. You were wrong about me, I’m not worth saving. You are.
Archie
Fear ripped through Charlie. He read it again, and again.
“Rodger!”
The boots were now too distant to hear.
“Rodger!”
He sank to his knees, forgetting the cold and for the first time in a year, felt tears slide down his cheeks. He’d chosen to die. Archie had a life to live yet. He could not choose to die, not like this.
Day 2.
Cold feet on the floor. He stared at the stones.
“Is it today?”
“Today is not the day.”
“Is it today?”
“Today is not the day.”
“Is it today?”
“Today—”
Charlie sprang forward as the bucket swung forward, catching it as ice-cold water soaked him. His other hand closed over Rodger’s sleeve.
Steep touched his neck. Charlie froze. His breath caught. Charlie grimaced. I am going to die, was the most liberating thought he’d ever had.
He didn’t die.
“Stop him,” Charlie said, staring into those grey eyes. “Tell him I said so.”
Rodger stood stock still, as he had the day before, considering.
“Today is not the day.”
Then he yanked his coat from Charlie’s grasp. His form and footsteps receded.
“Stop him!” Charlie shouted.
“Is it today?”
“Today is not the day.”
Day 3.
Charlie stood by the door before Rodger’s footsteps could be heard. When he passed, he saw him there and moved on without coming close.
“Tell him not to!” Charlie bellowed after him.
The footsteps stopped and began to move back up the tunnel.
“…it today?”
“Today is not the day.”
Rodger stopped outside Charlie’s cell. His forehead was creased and his blade bared.
Water washed over Charlie.
“Please tell him to stop,” he pleaded, “My son doesn’t have to die.”
“Today is the day,” Rodger finally said and continued.
The cold from the water didn’t fade. He grasped ahold of the iron bars and shook them. Today was the day. He may die today. Maybe he could see Archie. Could stop Archie.
They came for him when the water had completely dried off him and he’d stood shivering until his feet and fingers were numb. They dressed him in a rag, sword to his throat. Rodger wasn’t there. For the first time in a year, Charlie saw the hallway he’d been staring at. It wasn’t as long as he’d thought, though the water must go somewhere.
Archie, don’t do it, he thought over and over again as the guards and steps led him out of the tunnel.
Daylight blinded him and he tripped and fell four times before he adjusted to the light. He stared around at the palace courtyard. People. Lots of people. Archie.
His eyes fell on a wooden structure topped with a pole and noose. The gates were open. People filed in, herded by guards with long decorative spears and tassels on their helmets. Soon the prison guards handed him to these new guards. Rodger won’t be here. Archie is going to die. He knew how it would go, he’d watched it a hundred times.
The rope was surprisingly soft around his neck but the crowd looked further away than he’d expected. He searched for the face, then the figure. He would be broader now, did he have a wife? Children? Don’t do it, Archie.
He longed to shout and scream but he had to see him. He was like his mother, stubborn and he wouldn’t change his mind for a mad scream. The gates closed when the last two stragglers filed in, leaving the courtyard only a quarter full.
“Charlie Rowen,” The executioner read, “Sentenced to death by His Majesty, the king. Punishment taken for his son, who…” He coughed and looked around, suddenly appearing very uncomfortable, “For a crime against the crown.”
Charlie searched the crowd one by one. Finally, he rested his eyes on a figure whose hood was pulled up. It had to be—
“This is your last chance for someone to accept punishment for you,” the executioner called, looking up at the crowd for a single moment.”
“Don’t do it!” Charlie shouted with all his might.
There was a shocked silence.
Then the words came, as he’d known but not from the hooded figure but from right in front of him. Stepping out from behind a slim man was Archie. His shoulders were wider and his beard longer but that was Archie.
“I volunteer—” Archie suddenly fell as the tall man turned and tackled him to the floor. The crowd shifted uneasily, all watching the executioner expectantly.
For a long moment, there was nothing.
“I hereby sentence Charlie Rowen to death.”
Relief and fear flooded him from head to toe. He felt lightheaded. He was going to die. Archie was going to live. He searched the crowd and found a familiar face, but not of his son. The slim man turned around. Rodger. He sighed with relief.
The platform fell away beneath Charlie’s feet.
I hope you enjoyed my first real attempt at a short story and of the current newsletter. I decided to start this to improve my skill in writing and also learn how to write flash fiction and poems which I have little experience with. I also think I will be able to improve faster when the pieces are shorter and of course, it is easier to convince people to read them.