The following story was contributed to ficlets.com last week. It's a follow-up to my story "Judicial Execution". I'm putting it here so that you can check it out! Let me know
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"That's the end of it." Joseph turned to look his colleague in the eyes. "What was served by his death? He didn't know who he was, let alone why he was being killed." At the corner of his eye, just the smallest hint at a tear began to form.
"Just because some criminal didn't remember the crime, doesn't mean he's innocent. The family had to have closure." George replied.
"This wasn't closure for these victims' families, this was revenge. The only reason we aren't now trying these families for a crime, is we have some vague idea of justice scribbled on some paper. This latest death only adds to the toll, it doesn't wipe it away!"
"True, but taking memories doesn't prevent more of these terrible crimes."
"Neither has killing the killers."
"Don't go spouting off your numbers to me again!" George turned away, not wanting to face the fact that he had no clear point that made him right. As he faced away all he could do is pull another file from the stack on his table. "We have to try something more..."
The following post is actually from my ficlets account. It's a site for short fiction, very short... 1024 characters is the maximum space you get to tell your story. Feel free to comment here, or at http://ficlets.com/stories/21152 about this story. I plan on releasing a new chapter each week.
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I woke with a start.
"Where am I?"
Sitting upright in a darkened room, I try to reach out with my senses to tell me where I am. Cold, inelegant metal bites into my legs and wrists.
"What the?" I softly question myself.
I come to realize the room isn't dark, my face is covered by unfinished leather. I feel the same around my chest and waist. My chair is hard and unforgiving as I struggle modestly against my restraints. I feel someone approach my side.
But I am not comforted.
The presence roughly paws against my head with a cold, wet sponge. The cold I knew is now replaced with something much more powerful now, terror.
I struggle more passionately now.
"What's going on?" I raise my voice to the presence.
The only reply I receive is a sharp blow to the side of my head and a chuckle.
I soon become aware of two more things, the ticking of a clock and the rumbling of a small audience.
As I shout my last words, "Why am I here?" I struggle to understand.
I can hear the switch being pulled into action.
