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The First Shock

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Author's note: This pasta is the first in "The King of Murder" series, please visit my page (Designofkings) to see the list in order. I hope you enjoy the story!

Thinking back on one’s childhood can bring forth a myriad of emotions as well as memories that can essentially be recreated by, in fact, thinking back on them.

This is the situation that Jason Ozil is now experiencing. The cold, concrete room would have seemed unfamiliar to Jason had you asked him the day earlier; however, sitting, tied to the steel chair in the middle of the room, allowed an uncontrollable childhood fear to wash over him. Sometime within his life, he had been in the same position.

He had no solid memories of this place, save for the dominating fear and the faint notion that his mind was trying to bring some memory to the front of his thought… it made him nauseous. His mind was swirling, trying to bring memories that could help his situation. He could barely see, as something was covering his face, but what he could see was blurry.

He tried to focus but his mind would not allow him. Then, all at once, his feeling jolted him back to a less surreal state. He hadn’t even noticed before, but his senses had been numb, now he understood that this was for his own protection. His entire body felt as though it was on fire and his feet felt as if they were submerged in water. It burned, but as his body was jolted, his memory was as well.

He remembered running through the field behind his childhood home in the country. He remembered stumbling upon a hole in the ground- well, perhaps more of a crater from something colliding with the ground at a high speed. Suddenly, he was aware of tons of eyes, staring at him from the woods just beyond the field. It was as if they were staring through him from behind glass; however, the danger was ever present. The once lovely clouds rolled into a much more sinister storm and with the sun blotted out by the heavy, depressing clouds; a new sensation assaulted Jason’s dream like state of recollection.

It was a faint voice, like someone far over the rolling hills, and he could faintly make out the phrase “roll on two,” and with that his body jerked yet again as if a bolt of lightning from the storm had just surged through his body.

The judicial executioner had seen stranger things in his line of work. However, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit of horror in the criminals frantic mumbling of some memory from his childhood before the executioner had to shock him again. Normally he would be able to shake it off and think of them as “only criminals” or “scum” but this one gave him a sour sense that it wasn’t right. It seemed as though the man had forgotten everything; even where he was, after the first shock from the electric chair and he had never seen this many people come to watch from behind the glass.

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