The Switch

No bag, murderers don't get bags. He did not care; he wanted to remember his face. He wants them to remember the eerie creak of the trap door opening beneath him.they needed to hear his last breath as he gasped for air, unable to feel the rush of life course through his body. Every time someone snapped he wanted the sound of his breaking neck to echo through there ears. His last wish was that the image of his face swelling with pain as he hangs there, to be burned into the memories of every man, woman, and child in the crowd. If he was going to die by the noose, he thought that every fiery red hemmorhage in his eyes and on his body to become a burden on the heart of these heartless people. Then the floor slipped away frome him and he fell into nothingness.He dangled only a few inches from a life he knew he could never finish. He could feel every fiber of the horse hair rope cutting into his flesh feeling like tiny knives cuttig the will to live out of him. His eyes bulged ready to leave there socketts and escape this pain. Before they could leave he saw the crowd seperating allowing a little figure to come up to the gallows. He watched the little boy come up to the edge of the gallowes and say the words, "Thank you for my daddy." Then there was darkness.