I look into his unblinking eyes, staring intensely at me.
I shudder with fear, for I know my time is nigh.
He beckons me forth, wiggling a white-gloved finger.
It is time. I can delay no longer.
I must get my picture taken with Santa, or Mom will kill me.
It’s always the same, every single time.
A dark ominous shape follows me through endless hallways.
I go left, it’s there; I go right, it’s there.
I go faster, it gets closer.
Finally I’m cornered. It reaches out and…
I wake up, still on death row, waiting to be executed.
Kevin P. Michaels lives in Las Vegas, Nevada, where he works by day and writes at night, honing his skills to become a better writer.