They sat me up in my chair. I was confused and disoriented. I couldn’t move, something was holding me down. Straps. Large, cumbersome straps. I could smell the old, worn leather.
My eyes were blurry and irritated like a bad flu mixed with a hang over. The air was cold, like an operating room. Preventing surgical infection? I thought. Why?
“Wha… what’s happening?” I murmured.
“Shh, drink this.”
I couldn’t make out faces, just silhouettes sauntering back and forth across my vision. This vile concoction tasted of ash.
The sound of large drums were being lumbered into place.
“Again! Again!” someone shouted. “Not yet, he’s not ready!”
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t physically speak. I was screaming at the top of my lungs, but only in my mind. I could feel everything they were doing. Tightening my straps, playing with my head and neck. My body lay limp and heavy.
The drums made a hissing, pressing noise. My arm felt warm, then my chest, and my body. Wait … is that my body!?
“Ladies and gentlemen I do humbly apologize for that delay. The issue has been resolved, and the sentenced has been carried out. If you will please enter in your logs the time of death as this day, April 18th 1996 at 12:06AM.”