It's time. I know it. I can feel it in my bones. I don't even need to hear the jingle of the guard's keys to know what's coming. Freedom. But not in the way that you're thinking.
The hairs on my arms stand up. I hear the boots against the cold, hard floor. I hear their wearer whistling. I almost smile. After all, today's my day. It's my party, and I'll smile if I want to.
Not like they'd remember it's my birthday, anyway.
That'll make for a fun headstone. Birthday and death day the same. That is, if they do their job right. If they do, and God I hope they do, then this kid's going to be a whole other kind of basket case. Well, his head is, anyway.
I can see the guard out of the corner of my eye. I've rehearsed my "any last words" speech, and I'm ready for the show...
...when he walks right by me. "Not today, Todd."
"The name's Gil, Hank!" I holler after him. Does nobody in this jail understand comedy? I'm Gil, a teen? Guillotine? Whatever.
Another day won't hurt. Much.
But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about the hold-up. What nutcase beat me out this time? Or do they just like having me around? That'd be sweet. It's a shame that I'm in here in the first place. Had we met another way, I'm sure a bunch of the workers here and I would have been pals.
By workers, of course I mean the guards. There are a bunch of them. Hank's the fattest. I could tell it was him walking down the hall earlier because no one's boots thud like his. Larry's the tiniest little twig of a man. Coat him in peanut butter, and Hank'd swallow him down in one gulp.
Now, I bet you're all still wondering why I chose the whole "guillotine" pun. It's because I like guillotines. They're fast and effective, when manned properly. You're probably thinking, "But Gil! They stopped using guillotines in 1977!"
I thought so, too. But I'm something of a conspiracy theorist. And when you're as interested in conspiracies as I am, there are some things that you've just got to see for yourself. See, here's the thing. The world thinks they got rid of the guillotine. But really, it's only in a few select prisons scattered across the world. None in France, though, because that's the first place people would look. And I was just so fortunate to have been in the very same city where the local prison was rumoured to have one of the bad boys.
I mean, who would pass up an opportunity like that? Any conspiracy theorist worth their salt wouldn't. And it just so happens that a salt is my specialty. That, and puns.
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