Hanging on the line - Free flash fiction story

Hunched over on my bunk, the cracked skin of my fingers traces the crumbling chalk marks on the brick wall. Flakes of dried paint float to the exposed concrete floor, drifting down like the remnants of my hope. My squalid conditions no longer matter, though. Time has run out. In a matter of hours, either the governor will call, or they will execute me. There is nothing I can do but endure.

This place has been my home for twenty-seven years. Fifty square feet in which all I could do was survive. Think. Appeal. And keep thinking as my mind raced with nothing else to do. I took a life and now the state has taken everything from me. Except time. And now, even that luxury might have run out.

With a heavy sigh, I look down at my shoes and their long, thick laces. It has taken me fifteen years to earn the right to wear them in here. My hands rub over my freshly shaved head. The first time, it felt strange. Like I wasn’t really me. In time, I got used to it. I glance at my chalk countdown. Then back at my laces.

They say the latest appeal went well. I’m told to be hopeful. To be patient. But time marches on for everyone except the condemned.

My thoughts race, and my right leg trembles. Hell, my whole body is trembling, although I don’t know how, as I barely have the energy to move.

Unlike my mind, my senses haven’t dulled. The musty smell of mildew fills my nostrils. Salt works its way over my coarse lips and dry tongue.

The chasm inside me opens, consuming me from within. The strange ache spreads out from my stomach, pulsating through my veins until it absorbs everything. Light and sound. The newfound silence is deafening. But out of it comes a shrill, insistent ringing. It rattles around inside my head, growing louder and louder.

I clasp my dirty hands over my ears as my wide eyes flicker around my cell for anything high and solid. Something to hold on to. Then I stare at my laces once more. My salvation is near.