Dusk was falling fast on the high security prison, filling Ray's cell with an eerie dusty light. Anticipating his last meal, Ray knew he had chosen well, T-bone steak, baked potato; corn, a whole wheat bun and apple pie ala-mode.
Later, the guards came and led him down the long hall to the electricity room, where they put him in a chair and tied a black hood over his head.
After making sure he was secure, the old guard yelled, “Ready! Set! Power the juice!”
(Ray wasn't dead).
(Still wasn't dead).
“Oh hell! Get em' up. He lives.”
copyright: Ted Strutz
It is time once again for Friday Fictioneers, which is graciously hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Our challenge is to write a story, using the photo prompt given, with a beginning, middle, and end, in 100 words or less. It's fun. Join us.
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