"Assembled here to witness the state's execution of Murphy Pendleton--"
no wait stop
He tries to move his arm then, but he can't. He's been strapped down to a gurney.
"--sentenced for the murder of his six-year-old son..."
this isn't right at all
He winces under the puncture of the sharp cannula in his arms.
"The couple had divorced four years earlier, and prosecutors believe Pendleton drowned his son, Charlie, in retaliation for his ex-wife seeking sole custody."
No, this is wrong. This is fucking death row--
STOP this isn't how it's supposed to be i didn't i wouldn't i'd never JUST LISTEN TO ME FOR GOD'S SAKE
A door opens behind him. Struggling to move his head, Murphy looks over the gurney to see a tray out the corner of his eye. There's medical equipment, an IV stand, tools, and paperwork with his name on them.
Shadow men appear from the door then. Though the voice he's been hearing echoes from somewhere else. Murphy doesn't have to move much to figure it out, when one of the shadow men approach the side of the gurney. The mechanical whir sends him momentarily upright, pinned completely to the cold mat against his back.
Overlooking the windows beyond the execution room, more shadow men have gathered. In the corner, a dark-haired woman in a veil sits among them. Her eyes are closed. Black ink pours down her cheeks.
Carol.
A shadow man behind her leans towards her, placing a hand over her shoulder. When she lifts her head, she sees Murphy -- and through the glass, he sees her. Eyes erased, and slash marks disfigure her face.
The shadow man in the front row seat continues: "More recently, Pendleton was tried and convicted for the murder of decorated officer, Frank Coleridge during a Ryall State Prison riot, which expedited Pendleton's execution sentence amidst public furor."
no no no no NO I DIDN'T
Carol looks to Murphy with a cut-throat smile. Then, so do all of the shadow people.
Any last words, Pendleton?
He thinks he's going to vomit for real this time. He just might. Wouldn't that be so horrible? Choking to death before they can even kill him. At least that's on his own volition, wouldn't it?
The gurney drops back with a crash. Not very pleasant at all. Murphy gasps for air, winded.
Cop killers don't last very long.
But he isn't...
A buzzing sound grows louder. Like a hive of bees, it hums and beats and becomes deafening in his ears and his head might, just might explode.
All it takes is the flip of a switch, and he can hear the sound of the machines pumping into him. One by one... he feels tired, torn and weary. He can't even bother to breathe anymore, only slam his head against the gurney and stifle an inexplicable muffle of disbelief. He fights it at first. Thrash against the straps that hold him down as he yells.
The shadow men hover over him with their black faces and visible smiles. He remembers Carol's twisted face. Charlie's rotting body. Frank's withered form and Anne's crushed corpse. He remembers these things, and suddenly, the struggle doesn't even seem to be worth it anymore. It's just not worth it.
Maybe it's the alleged pentobarbital, or maybe it's his conscience. Maybe it's something else entirely that's making its way inside. Either way, he begins to feel weak, unable to fight this thing that's been gnawing at him for so long...
He coughs. He coughs and chokes and blood builds up in his throat. His eyes hurt so bad he feels them start to burst out of his sockets. With that, he convulses.
The heart monitor on display nearby starts beating again. This time in rapid succession. He feels hot, dizzy, blood boiling and brain coursing through the motions of several flashing images pouring from his mind's eye.
{Hotter Than Hell | Part III.}
what
"Assembled here to witness the state's execution of Murphy Pendleton--"
no wait stop
He tries to move his arm then, but he can't. He's been strapped down to a gurney.
"--sentenced for the murder of his six-year-old son..."
this isn't right at all
He winces under the puncture of the sharp cannula in his arms.
"The couple had divorced four years earlier, and prosecutors believe Pendleton drowned his son, Charlie, in retaliation for his ex-wife seeking sole custody."
No, this is wrong. This is fucking death row--
STOP this isn't how it's supposed to be i didn't i wouldn't i'd never JUST LISTEN TO ME FOR GOD'S SAKE
A door opens behind him. Struggling to move his head, Murphy looks over the gurney to see a tray out the corner of his eye. There's medical equipment, an IV stand, tools, and paperwork with his name on them.
Shadow men appear from the door then. Though the voice he's been hearing echoes from somewhere else. Murphy doesn't have to move much to figure it out, when one of the shadow men approach the side of the gurney. The mechanical whir sends him momentarily upright, pinned completely to the cold mat against his back.
Overlooking the windows beyond the execution room, more shadow men have gathered. In the corner, a dark-haired woman in a veil sits among them. Her eyes are closed. Black ink pours down her cheeks.
Carol.
A shadow man behind her leans towards her, placing a hand over her shoulder. When she lifts her head, she sees Murphy -- and through the glass, he sees her. Eyes erased, and slash marks disfigure her face.
The shadow man in the front row seat continues: "More recently, Pendleton was tried and convicted for the murder of decorated officer, Frank Coleridge during a Ryall State Prison riot, which expedited Pendleton's execution sentence amidst public furor."
no no no no NO I DIDN'T
Carol looks to Murphy with a cut-throat smile. Then, so do all of the shadow people.
Any last words, Pendleton?
He thinks he's going to vomit for real this time. He just might. Wouldn't that be so horrible? Choking to death before they can even kill him. At least that's on his own volition, wouldn't it?
The gurney drops back with a crash. Not very pleasant at all. Murphy gasps for air, winded.
Cop killers don't last very long.
But he isn't...
A buzzing sound grows louder. Like a hive of bees, it hums and beats and becomes deafening in his ears and his head might, just might explode.
All it takes is the flip of a switch, and he can hear the sound of the machines pumping into him. One by one... he feels tired, torn and weary. He can't even bother to breathe anymore, only slam his head against the gurney and stifle an inexplicable muffle of disbelief. He fights it at first. Thrash against the straps that hold him down as he yells.
The shadow men hover over him with their black faces and visible smiles. He remembers Carol's twisted face. Charlie's rotting body. Frank's withered form and Anne's crushed corpse. He remembers these things, and suddenly, the struggle doesn't even seem to be worth it anymore. It's just not worth it.
Maybe it's the alleged pentobarbital, or maybe it's his conscience. Maybe it's something else entirely that's making its way inside. Either way, he begins to feel weak, unable to fight this thing that's been gnawing at him for so long...
He coughs. He coughs and chokes and blood builds up in his throat. His eyes hurt so bad he feels them start to burst out of his sockets. With that, he convulses.
The heart monitor on display nearby starts beating again. This time in rapid succession. He feels hot, dizzy, blood boiling and brain coursing through the motions of several flashing images pouring from his mind's eye.
...See? I knew you'd come around, in the end.