12 o'clock. The hands on the clock resonated with a onimous boom that sound like the end of days.

The only thing more terrifying was seeing the prison guard open my cell and drag my shackled, sorrowful ass out into the corridor. Dead man walking.

Then came the room. With the Chair. My one way ticket to God knows where.

The sight of it froze me. Paralysed me.

I wanted to scream. This wasn't fair... This can't be happening...Someone...Anyone...Help me...Pleeeease!

But the verdict was unanimous. I killed the boy in cold blood. Now my blood was the redemption sort for his.

The chair felt like ice. Like a cold souless pit ready to devour my very being.

My body shook feverishly. My breathing, more rapid

Sweat soaked my body, fear over whelmed me and I started to cry.

Then, in the haze of my tear-filled eyes, I saw the ghostly image of the boy.

" Why? ", he asked

I gulped, painfully, and told him "Cause you deserved it ... Cause of what you did to my little girl... Will never be forgiven...I'll see you in hell".

The ghost dissappeared, replaced by the cold grasp of death gripping my soul.

Then out of nowhere I heard a voice. "Last words?"

I said nothing at first, my throat felt swollen, but then I weakly muttered." Tell my daughter... that her Daddy loves her...always"

I took one last breath, and in a horrific slow motion, they pulled the switch and...

My heart takes a dive as I jolt upwards on the floor. The seedy tase of bourbon feels my mouth and my stomach churns like there's an alien inside me.

I sit upright on my backside and gaze wearily up at the room in front of me. I'm home, in my private office. My desk, a mess of papers and bookwork, sits idly to my right. Then I feel an intense warmth over come me.

Beside me is a open fire place, the flames inside raging furiously. Above it rests a collection of mounted heads. Deer, elk and a giant moose taking pride in the center.

Legs and body trembling, I strain to get my feet. Just now I realize that I'm holding onto a key in my right hand. A empty bottle of Jim Bean in the left.

Before me is my gun cabinet, and suddenly everything becomes clear. A sound lingers into my ears from one of the other rooms. Crying. My daughter is crying desperatly in her bedroom. That son of a bitch.

I step forward towards the cabinet and look deeply through the glass at the rifle inside. " Just a dream", I mutter to myself. " Just a motherfucking dream".

I bang my head against the glass, cracking it just a little. My entire body feels numb, yet no pain could be worst than the one I feel now. Dropping to my knees I find myself beginning to cry.

" What am I supposed to do? " Images of the ghostly boy start to appear in my mind.

" I'm her father for God sake! " The sounds of her crying tear at me as if I was being lashed by a whip.

Then images from the dream resurface. " I dont want to die..."