Captive (302 words)
The sky outside the windows erupted in a fiery display of lightning. A deafening roar startled the witnesses present. Was it a sign from God, a forecast of what was coming next?
Booker Lovell was seeing all kinds of premonitions this week. His mind was troubled with the knowledge that the end was near. There would be no escape, no miraculous rescue, no dramatic salvation or redemption as was the common case in Hollywood cinema.
From Monday through Thursday, all signs kept pointing to the inevitable outcome. His nerves were so shot, the few morsels he had eaten of yesterday’s dinner, appropriately christened “the last supper”, he had ejected from his stomach right before he went to bed.
Booker had awakened this Friday with jittery limbs, dog tired from spending most of the night staring at the ceiling, and queasier than a cotton candy junky on a rollercoaster marathon.
Nevertheless, he got dressed, made himself as presentable as possible and went out to face his destiny.
So here he was on this stormy day. He walked what seemed like a mile to the front of the room. He felt the eyes of everyone present trying to pierce the back of his head, but he was too nervous to acknowledge them.
As Booker reached the end of his path, his gaze went up the man in executioner black standing in front of him, awaiting him with a grim grin on his face.
As slow as the last minute had passed, the next one went by in a flash: the organ music kicking off the march, Hannah coming through the door and joining him, then the executioner clearing his throat and saying the dreaded words.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony …”