Allright, I know that this needs quite a bit of work, but its a first draft- and so bear me. I’m not really sure WHERE the work needs to be done- or if its even an interesting story- so I’d like a little bit of help, thank you.
The phone rang again, but it was only in his mind. He’d been waiting here for over five years for this day, the day when the nightmare would end. He was not sure whether this was a blessing or not, for he (unlike many others before him) was unsure of where he would be going. He looks on the remains of his hamburger Happy Meal (his favorite) and starts pacing the cold stone floor. He would come for him any moment with his cold eyes and sneering lips, come to kick him one last time before the final destination.
He didn’t want to go anywhere, he wanted to stay in his room, where it was safe. But he deserved it, he thought, he has been a bad boy. He wouldn’t be able to play with Fluffy or mommy or sis anymore. Of course, he knew that when he had held the limp bodies of his kin six years ago, blood clotting in is favorite pee jays. They had been dead, just like his old goldfish Molly. But Molly look peaceful when she died. Molly didn’t have her jaw ripped off like mommy did, and Molly’s arms (fins?) weren’t torn off like sis. And they took Fluffy away. He hoped Fluffy was alive and with a happy family; but she could be dead, too. Dead by a shot, just like he’d get.
His little sis was only seventeen years old. The news kept repeating this fact, and how her sick, sadistic killer would be brought to justice tonight. Momma’s special Boy killed her, they said. Even his daddy on the TV said what a bad boy he always was, and how he was glad about what was going to happen today.
“I’m a bad boy.”
The Boy started to bawl. He didn’t REMEMBER doing anything, but all the doctors said that is normal. “Hiding behind this gentle face is a MONSTER.” The prosecution kept driving that in like a stake into warm ground. It seemed to the Boy that his defense lawyer said a lot of bad things, too. “He didn’t know his own strength when he did this,” or “he doesn’t know what death is,” and he kept saying he was crazy. But then when they all found out about Molly, his momma tellin’ him that she’d go to heaven, the stake drove all the way through.
“I’m goin to Hell,”
The would have gotten louder, now, but the Boy stopped when he heard, “yes you are you sonofabitch, you’re goina Hell in a handbasket.” The boy looked up at the Guard, who unlocked his room with a special card, and he knew that he’d have to be a big boy. So he got up, still sniffling a little, and started following the Guard.
“Dead man walking!” the guard proclaimed cheerily. And they walked, insults being thrown from the cells, directed at the Boy, who started crying again. The Guard whacked him across the face, “If you can’t stand the heat, don’t you go killin no one,” the he said most eloquently.
The Boy didn’t cry anymore. He knew he was a bad boy, he didn’t need to be hit to tell him that. At least the rest of the walk was silent, except for the Prisoners whispering amongst themselves.
Silence until they entered the Chamber. The Boy expected a big wooden chopping block and an axeman wearing a hood and all of that stuff, and was surprised to see that it looked like a small doctor’s office. It was no more than a white room with a white man sized table, and an old rotary telephone sitting on a black stool. Besides the Boy and the Guard, the Chaplain and the Doctor stood silently in the cold room.
The Chaplain took a few steps and started to speak, but the Boy interrupted, “If I’ma bad boy, I’m goina Hell. If I’ma good boy, I’m goina Heaven, n nothin you can say will change that.” The Chaplain nodded, taken aback at these words coming from this man, the man he had only heard about on the television as a stupid monster.
The Doctor told the Boy to lie down on the table, while he got the Needle ready. He started shaking. Needles were scary enough business, but this was THE Needle, the Needle that would take him to his final destination.
After about a million years the doctor got the Needle ready, “Any last requests?”
The Boy, still shaking, knew exactly what he wanted, “I always got a lollypop when I got a shot, so I wouldn’t be scared.”
Taken aback and a bit bemused, the Doctor left the room for what seemed to be another million years, and came back with a small, green lollypop. “The Warden keeps them in his office. I’m sure he won’t miss one.”
And at this, the Boy knew it was the End, “A…awright Doc, do your job,” the boy took the sucker, put it in his mouth and closed his eyes, the juice running down his throat. It tasted great to his tongue, but was bitter to his mind.
And the Boy went to sleep.
Ring… ring… ring… ring…
The Guard picked it up, “Hello.”
A tear streamed down his cheek, “He’s in Heaven.”