© The National Gallery, London |
My Last Breath
Lady Jane Grey
Why not? I, character of manipulation, I kneel. The world around me darkens as my eyes are covered. How do I feel? I don’t. My hands are shaking, but I am numb. I don’t feel. I can’t.
‘Bend down’, they say. Shall I comply? I bend down. Will it hurt? With baited breath I expose my neck. My bare skin makes contact with the scratchy hard wood block, where many before me have lost.
I think of the executioner. What does he feel? Ending the lives of countless before me. I remember the many public executions I’ve been to. The steady swish flick of the axe, then the thud of a lifeless head on the cold floor. That was going to happen to me. My head, not with my neck. A steady flow of red blood.
The crowd around me seem to hold their breath. They gasp. I seize my last breath, exhale my last… and… goodbye. So long. This will be my last. This is all I will ever… |
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