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- **************************************
- * PISS PHILEZ NUMBER 5 *
- * *
- * And his last words were- *
- * *
- * by Sameer Ketkar *
- **************************************
-
- He was sitting there, fidgeting, just like in the movies. Somewhat
- sickly, his only thought was how that damn prison barber-lady had
- managed to cut his head when she'd shaven the three inch-circle bald
- spot on his head. The saline solution that the guards had so benignly
- splashed on top of his head only added to the pain, and guaranteed more
- to come.
-
- The uncomfortable wooden chair, hard to the touch, and with a tall back,
- was ugly to look at. His arms were already tugging at the straps that
- were attached to his calves and his forearms. Marcos Valenzuela imagined
- what he looked like from the perspective of his guards, the pricks. Never
- a large man, he had made himself known by brain power. Yeah, I'll become
- a genius from all these volts.
-
- A man, sitting quite serenely was what he
- wanted the guards to see. His arms rested on the armrests as if he were
- a king on a throne. Back straight in a regal posture, the only blatantly
- obvious give-away was the small, beany shaped metal cap crown which rested
- on his doomed head. The saline solution had sealed his fate, allowing
- those extra few volts to course through his small frame and...
-
- "Would you like regular or extra crispy?" the seventy year old guard
- asked him while raging into a fit of laughter. His lawyer and family
- outside, unfortunately, could not hear the guards and come rushing in to
- save him, or in the very least beat them to death with their own night-sticks.
-
- A smile crossed his face.
-
- "What're you laughing about, Crispy. You know, I never really had a taste
- for human, but in your case I just might make an exception!"
-
- "Shut up you fat-ass blanco. You've always had the advantages, you's
- never growed up on the streets with my homeboys. You don't feel their
- pain when the bullets crash through their skulls. They die honorably,
- but you'll always be a redneck blanco punk." Oh, but he'd get his revenge
- on this guard, he just knew God would help him out, because he'd asked,
- when the time came. El dios no es antipatico, va a ayudarme con mi
- problemita.
-
- The old guard had seen a lot of men like Marcos before, and they always
- had the same fate. He memorized the way each and every one of them had
- cursed him out and the ways they'd convulsed as the life was slowly
- drained from them. Marcos would be fun to watch.
-
- "You know if you had half a mind you'd think to shut up. You better
- shut your eyes", he taunted the man, "because you know when the first
- shock goes through you, your eyes'll pop out and dangle in front of
- you like the balls on a Christmas tree."
-
- Marcos looked up. He had never really been a religious man, but
- right now he needed all the help he could get. But instead of seeing
- God, he saw a single, dim lightbulb hanging from its chain to the ceiling,
- dangling slowly back and forth. Looks like someone being hung, he thought,
- I wonder which'd be better?
-
- The first bolts hit him as he was looking at the lightbulb.
- Unceremoniously and quite forbodingly, the bulb dimmed as the power was
- used for other means. The electricity coursed through his body, from the
- shaved spot on his head to the rubber soles at his feet, where it lingered
- a while, melting the rubber and singing his feet.
-
- The volts coursed through his veins, igniting plasma into a furious mixture
- of steam and death. Looking straight up, he realized his head was shaking.
- He brought his head down and saw that the muscles in his legs twitched
- relentlessly, trying to break free of the horrible restraints holding him
- in the torture chair. His arms periodically clenched and unclenched,
- releasing new gouts of pain up and down his arms and to his spine. His
- right arm popped loose of the restraint, but it didn't matter.
-
- Soon he realized the merit of the tall, straight backed chair. His body
- was convulsing in a horrid fashion, and the back of the chair prevented
- him from snapping his own back, basically so I don't get hurt; how ironic,
- he thought.
-
- But by looking down he had released another force onto himself: gravity.
- Gravity and the first few seconds of the shock (has it been only seconds?)
- tore his eyes right out of their sockets. Hanging straight down only by
- a thin connective membrane (optic nerve?) the eyes dangled just like the
- lightbulb which Marcos had seen. Parts of the eye were translucent or
- even transparent. With an unobstructed view, he peered down at his own
- convulsing body, and imagined himself a spirit looking at a dying man,
- detached, but feeling the pain nonetheless. His view dangled left and
- right and was dizzying. Just like those video tapes my family sent me,
- when they allowed Pablito to work the camcorder; what a debacle!
-
- He noticed for the first time, his mouth. His red, full lips were
- quivering in a convulsive manner. He looked strangely upon his own lips.
-
- Then, in a flash, he realized he'd been trying to say something over
- and over again. He could just barely make out the words coming from
- his own thoughts, but they were words nonetheless!
-
- And his last words were...
-
- In a sudden fit of apparent insanity, the seventy year old guard fell
- to the ground, convulsing like he was the one being electrocuted. His
- old, withered body fell on his nightstick and curled up into a fetal
- ball. His knees worked towards his body and away from it, again and
- again in a rapid succession of convulsions which appeared to be killing
- him. The white foam flew from his mouth, which was munching rapidly and
- trying desperately to say something, something that seemed to the other
- guard like the name Pablo, no Marcos Pablito Valenzuela. First, middle
- and last names, the old guard had blurted out again and again, names
- which meant nothing to him but had a greater and wider significance to
- the other dead man in the room.
-
- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
- PISS - People into Serious Shit
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- Contributors-
- Sameer Ketkar
-
- Want more stuph? Go to http://www.angelfire.com/sc/PISS/philez.html
- The site will change as soon as I get money for one..
-
- E-mail the group at davematthews@rocketmail.com
-
- ⌐1997 PISS Publications
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