Capturing those final shots
On the eve of an execution
I wonder what words
Her lips do not speak
I wonder, yes, but I do not ask
Because I know
In my shadowed heart
That a look as blue
as her eyes in that light
Is an answer in itself.
Casey Laine comes from a long line of talkative women. She works as Fantasy Editor at Cosmic Roots and Eldritch Shores and publishes an annual anthology of fiction and poetry for her writing group, Writers Assembled. In her spare time, she chases butterflies with her camera. Find her at Facebook, Cosmic Roots and Eldritch Shores, and Amazon.
I’ve never been one for salvation. And being baptized in a sink in some god-forsaken prison seemed a bit desperate.
The pastor, though, was certain. He had written an essay and sent a check. Now, his paper cross could save us sinners. He would forgive what the dead never could.
J. Ian Manczur wrote this story.
Jordan finished the meal he requested, and set aside his dessert—cherry pie—so he could finish it later.
The cell guard turned to the warden and said, “I thought prisoners couldn’t be executed if they didn’t know what was happening to ’em.”
“So much for theory,” the warden sneered.
Adam Sprague’s work can be found in 365Tomorrows magazine. For more information check out his site.
They shared everything together. Every scrap of bread; every whispered word; every somber smile. They were a community: they shared a goal, a common end. After all, the only thing worse than awaiting death was awaiting it alone.
On sad days, their numbers shrank; on sadder days, their numbers grew.
The title for this story was suggested by Ragepyro.