A light rain was speckling the window at the top of my cell as I packed up my letters and the few items I was allowed to keep with me. They gave me a box that was just big enough to hold it all and a sticker to fill out so that they could mail the thing off to my survivors. I addressed it to the prison and stuck it on the box then folded the lid down. For the next hour I didn’t think about anything in particular while I waited for them to come get me. Four guards that I’d never seen before showed up at quarter of twelve and said it was time to go. I was going to be dead in fifteen minutes and I couldn’t think of a thing to say. They opened my cell and four hands grabbed each of my arms. I guess they were always expecting someone to go crazy on this last walk but I was not about to pull any funny business. When we got to the cell with the electric chair I was introduced to the prison doctors and the executioners. I was also introduced to the doctors I had hired on my own even though I already knew them via numerous missives. “Everything ready?” I asked my doctors. They said, “Yes.” and I let the executioner strap me into the chair. “Good luck.” said my main doctor. I nodded to him and said, “Same to you!” At twelve sharp they threw the switch and I was blasted with ten thousand volts. There’s no other way to describe the feeling except to say that it was shocking. As soon as I was pronounced dead by the prison doctors they signed a document saying that the sentence had been successfully carried out. The second they had signed the document my doctors went to work with adrenaline and cardiac massage. They had me back in less than two minutes. When I opened my eyes the first thing I said was, “Ouch!” My head, arms, and feet hurt where the current had gone into me. I felt like my heart was beating too fast and I didn’t seem like I was breathing correctly. But it was a success! What a legal coup! There was absolutely nothing in the law that said I had to stay dead once I was executed. A fantastic loop hole. My doctors put me on a gurney and rolled me out to a waiting ambulance which took me to some offices in the suburbs. They put me up in a room which was warm and cozy with a TV and a kitchenette. I hadn’t been in there for more than 20 minutes before I noticed a little slip of paper come sliding under the door. It was a bill for the medical services. Under the diagnosis section it said, “dead.” and under the course of treatment it said “returned to life.” Under the price part it said, $34 million dollars. Ah yes, the same amount that I had obtained durning the murderous robbery that had landed me on death row in the first place. I just don’t understand the meaning of justice when it’s applied to me.
