#WritePhoto – March 29, 2018 – “Valley”
The last thing I saw was the sea swallowing the sun along the horizon. Through my swollen eyes, I could make out the soft pink and orange that swirled together to become one. It was magnificent. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have said it was magical. In those final moments, I wasn’t at all concerned with the rest of the world. Fully aware these moments would be my last, I cherished them for all they were worth, and kept my eyes on that glorious sunset.
I was lying on my side, face pressed down into the mud. The previous day’s rainstorm left the ground soft and slimy, and I could feel the wetness trying to push itself inside my ear. My hands were tied behind my back with tight, thick rope, and the duct tape secured around my mouth had forced itself up against my nostrils, almost suffocating me. At that point, it didn’t matter either way. I was helpless.
My case made national headlines. TV and newspapers had described me as a monster for the acts I’d committed. And it was true. Those kids didn’t deserve what I’d done to them, but I deserved every bit of what had happened to me at that point. And everything that was to come. I couldn’t feel sorry for myself. A mental health defense got me off scot-free, but that only made a difference in the eyes of the court.
As I laid covered in grit and grime, I heard harsh, raspy voices behind me. They spoke quietly, in an attempt to hide their identities, but it was useless. Those voices belonged to the fathers of the young girls I’d murdered. I had heard them speak in the courtroom many times. Anger, pain, heartache, devastation. It was something I’d never forget.
After overhearing their whispered conversation, I knew what was in store for me. The sharp sound of metal scraping metal filled the air and all I could do was wait. And while I waited, I prayed. My bold prayers were muffled beneath the tight gray duct tape, but the men heard my attempts.
“Prayers won’t save you. Just like they didn’t save my daughter.” I couldn’t see the man’s face, but I could sense irony, and something like redemption, in his tone.
Yes, the girls had prayed and begged for their lives. The only difference between us was that I knew my life couldn’t be saved, but I still had hope for my soul. I asked for forgiveness, wishing I could take back what I’d done, and kept my eyes on the beauty of the horizon.
I was still gazing at those pink and orange swirls as a pick axe smashed into the back of my skull, shattering bone with an ungodly crunch.
And everything went black.
This was my little piece for this week’s #WritePhoto prompt, hosted by Sue @ Daily Echo. I hope you enjoy! Same as last week, I chose to write a piece inspired by the photo provided. It’s a bit dark, but if you can’t tell yet, I love writing dark fiction. If you’re interested in participating, you really should. It’s a lot of fun! (Any and all feedback on my writing is welcome and appreciated!)
Until next time…