Countdown to Death

I stared at the wall with half-lidded eyes and gulped. My breath was hoarse and croaky, my throat dry and absent of hydration. My hands trembled uncontrollably, scrambling for the cheap chalk even though my eyes never once graced the sight of the white stick. My exhales were never rhythmic, constantly choking on the air as I mentally tried to inhale and exhale at the same time.

I looked at every line drawn individually, memorising what each meant to every detail of the messy scratch. There drawn were tallies, forty-two singular ones; eight full ones with two to spare, to be exact. Each resembled each day I was kept here... In this hell. And they were slowly counting down to the inevitable release. I had three more weeks to fully understand my limited time here.

My eyes suddenly widened as I let out a scream of terror - a scream that my fellow prisoners were very accustomed to.

A scene of trauma washed over my eyes and sent my body crashing down onto the floor in pure fear. 

A sense of panic overwhelmed me and my body began to sweat. All my movements henceforth were uncontrollable and predicted by the past. My emotions were painfully drowned by regretful memories that I begged to forget. I could only watch as my gravest mistake haunted me once again. 

“Pollette!” A gruff voice called, alerting me and distracting me from my duties. 

Pollette Anne Hadley. That’s me. Short blue hair and matching piercing eyes. I’d dream about how they held the essence of the pure sky - but those thoughts were the only fantasies that I used to distract me from the life that I dreaded so much. Then again... I was very far from pure - even before the incident. 

“Pollette!” They shouted again after only a few seconds of waiting. Impatient as always. Incompetent as always.

The voice belonged to my master: The Earl of Daventry; Sir Peter Holmes. A sorrowful old man who spent his seemingly endless days laying in his bed or sat in his office, scoffing his face with the fatty meals the chefs were forced to cook to fulfil his never-ending stomach. He ate his feelings. I’d feel sorry for him if he weren’t such a bastard. 

“POLLETTE!” He screeched for the third time - all in the span of twenty seconds - so loud that I saw the family of mice that lived in the corner of the laundry room scurry across the dusty cobblestone floors in fright. 

I rolled my eyes in frustration and slapped the grungy old rag I used to clean the counter into the rusty steel sink. I tightened my apron and smoothed out the traditional maid’s dress - all while cursing to myself in irritation. My uniform was nothing out of the ordinary for a low-classed maid like myself - black and white all the way through of course. A short black dress with a white apron, white stockings and black buckled shoes.

I hurried up the grand staircase of the large Daventry estate, my feet thanking me for gifting them of a different surface to stand on that wasn’t rough uneven stone - luscious carpet was certainly a lovely change from grubby concrete. 

Reaching my master’s doors was something I was always dreaded because of what lay on the other side. I pressed a hand against the shiny wood, recently dusted and glossed by yours truly. The smooth touch of the spruce was nice against my sore and worn fingertips. 

“Master.” I greeted with a sickly sweet tone, a forced smile painting my features. I could almost feel my left eye twitch in pent-up hatred. 

“Pollette!” He roared, his voice deep and gravelly. He was laid down on his satin sheets that held many empty plates and cups from the meals I had brought since this morning. They were already piling up. This sight was nothing new to me. 

This is what I spent my life’s work on. This is what drove me insanity.

A plate mounted with Victoria Sponge cake rested on his rising and falling stomach. Oh how I wanted to rip it open...

“Yes Master?” I repeated, my voice bearing the same bittersweetness as every phrase that escaped my lips directed to my mortifying master.

“I don’t pay you to lounge around! I have been waiting for hours!” He scolded, only to choke on a strawberry that had been layered between the sponge. Bits of red fruit spewed out into the air and dirtied the satin sheets with spit and berry. I cringed at the sight but tried to contain the look because of the presence of my judgmental master. 

I enjoyed watching him struggle...

“I was just finishing up the washing, Master.” I responded simply, never giving him the gift of eye-contact.

“I don't care what you were doing!” He snapped with a snarl. “Clean up this mess! I am lying in filth! Hurry up woman!” He turned to his side, without giving a care about the plate that slid off his bloated stomach and smudged jam onto the expensive emerald. “Clean me up too!” He ordered with his own ugly toothy cringe, showing off grimy yellow teeth. 

I rolled my shoulders backwards and relaxed my joints in a desperate attempt to contain my rage. I took three deep breaths through clenched teeth and slowly walked over to my master, my anger increasing with every step. I piled the empty plates into stacks and balanced them on my forearms to get the task done in one go and get away from my master as soon as possible. 

My muscles tensed under the weight of so much weight and sent my body to lean forward uncontrollably and my face to squish into the duvet. This would be a simple clumsy topple to anyone but myself. Due to the superiority complex my master harboured, a deathly scream was sent sounding around the master bedroom. 

“Pollette! How dare you assault me like this!” He shrieked like a toddler as he pulled away from my body as if I were a parasite. 

I gulped, my body pulsing with overwhelming fury. My breaths became hollow and uneven, my lungs aching at the lack of oxygen I provided. 

“S-Sorry-” I stuttered, my voice dipping from a forced sweetness to a deep sarcasm. A sore cough followed my words and a ripple crawled up my spine like a wave of violent anxiety washing over me. 

Without placing my eyes upon it, my fingertips grazed the blade of a knife covered in grease. My eyes widened and all of sudden, my movements were prioritised over my thoughts. My grip tightened on the kitchen knife, the sharp blade digging into my finger’s flesh and drawing blood. The red liquid sunk into the satin and stained the fabric, but that was no problem as lots more blood was soon to follow after. 

I let out a whimper as pain soared through my nerves, but I paid no matter. My only mind's focus was on the man who stared at me in confusion and growing anger. I couldn't care less about his emotions because they soon morphed into ones of pain and shock as I stabbed the tip of the knife into his belly. I pulled my hand off the blade and smeared my blood onto his naked stomach. I subconsciously let out a joyful yelp at the sight of his blood mixing with mine and creating an uncomfortable solution of growing red. 

I pressed my uninjured hand against the wooden handle of the knife and pushed the blade further into my master’s stomach. I hastily pulled out the deadly weapon and plunged it back into his stomach. Blood splattered onto my dress, onto the bed, and onto my face. I repeated this sequence several times, the knife constantly going in and out of the body and splashing blood. With every cut, more blood seeped and deepened the stain on my usually perfectly clean apron. My face was now smeared in the metallic-smelling liquid and was dripping down my chin as if I were slurping soup but missed my mouth.

Master died after just a few stabs due to bleeding out and contagious infection, but that didn’t stop my excitement. I sliced as much flesh as I could, covering as much surface area as I could and slathering it with fresh pungent blood. I made sure not to leave any area untouched with my bubbling rage.  My lips twitched as a laugh escaped my throat, choking on itself and departing in the form of an evil cackle. I doubled down in laughter as pure ecstasy ran through my veins. 

I bounced on the expensive bed and headed towards the limp head of my master. I swiftly sliced the knife across my master’s throat and admired the way sickly liquid swam down his wrinkled neck and ran down his chest like separating rivers. That blood quickly melded with that of his stomach and made a pool that looked like it had originated from the depths of hell itself.

I twirled on the bed, never-minding my steps that prodded into my master’s corpse.

The authorities arrived before I had taken my leave and I was seized before I could flee. I was captured before I could even reminisce my actions.  

I was taken to Egan Prison and remained there till my death. Three months to be exact. It was not a natural death, but a chosen one confirmed by those who didn’t even know me. 

I let out a gasp as the walls of my cell reappeared around me and the touch of the cold concrete floor returned to my fingertips. My eyes widened as I took sight of the clean wall in front of me. 

They were gone. 

My tallies... Were gone.

I let out a cough and a choke “Help! Help!” I screamed, throwing myself at the wall and slamming a fist upon it in distress. “They’re gone! They’re gone! W-Who- Who did this!?” I demanded, punching the wall and watching blood draw my knuckles and splatter onto the grey.

“Your day has come Hadley. You’re finally free.” A voice mused, their tone echoing throughout my secluded cell. 

“What?” I gaped, blinking like a confused dog. “Free?” 

“Well... Free from life of course.” They chuckled maliciously, taunting me with their freedom. 

I chose not to turn towards the guard that addressed me so rudely, my eyes continuously trained on the blank wall in front of me.

“I- I have a few more weeks- I can’t- I don’t want to die.” I cried out, tears brimming my eyes and blurring my vision. 

“Should’ve thought about that before you killed a man.” The guard glared, pulling open the door of my cell and approaching me with handcuffs. 

I pressed my back against the wall, but there was no escaping death. I was quickly seized and yanked down the hallway passed my fellow death row inmates. I hung my head low, hair shadowing my eyes and creating an eerie effect. My breaths were loud as anxiety built up inside of me, a panic attack approaching at a tremendous speed that I wished to slow down. 

I stumbled over my footing several times, each one getting more clumsy and emotional. By now tears were streaming down my cheeks and creating thin lines of cleanliness that contrasted with the dirt and grime that littered my flesh. I did nothing to stop the loud sobs that slipped through my trembling and muttering lips, weeping as dread and hysteria flowed through every pore. 

We soon reached a standstill where I was forced into a chair. I stared into vicious brown eyes that reflected my own teary ones. They held no sympathy or remorse, just a simple hue of cheek. I inhaled and exhaled harshly, every breath increasing in volume (mass and sound). Leather worn straps were tightened over my wrists and ankles and a rusty metal brace was placed firmly at my temples. 

Fear soared through my veins like rockets. I pulled and struggled against my restraints that were quickly cutting off my blood flow. I let out screams for mercy but they went unheard.

“Let me go! Please! It’s not my time! I- I have weeks! I- I can’t die!” I wailed, shaking my head violently in a weak attempt to get rid of the brace that held me so firmly. 

A loud slap sounded throughout the dimly lit room. My head was thrown to the side and a pulsing sting was sent flaring at my right cheek. My pleads and sobs ceased, just a quiet whimper left in its place as a final emotion of sorrow took its toll. 

“Shut it, woman.” A guard hissed.

“Pollette Anne Hadley. You are sentenced to death via electrocution for the murder of Sir Peter Holmes on January 16th 1898. Do you have any last words?” Another guard recited, his tone bearing no sincerity whatsoever. 

I took a deep breath, lifting my gaze and meeting his to dramatise my following words. A scowl was painted at my lips and furrowed eyebrows of anger took over my features. “He deserved it.” I growled with nothing but rage in my voice. 

A pull at the lever and a crackle of wiring; electricity was sent pulsing through my brain and sparked an agony that tore scream after scream from my dry throat. Quickly, my mind was sent spiralling into the endless dark abyss known as death.