I wrote this in 2007 and added it to the file for the next Derek Mason Mystery. And forgot about it.
Today as I re-read what I wrote yesterday, I noticed this at the end of the document and it fit perfectly in what I wanted to work on today. Odd, since I hadn't looked at this in over a year.
It may end up in the final revision or it may not, but today it fit the plot. "He" made sure I saw it when I needed to.
I woke from a dream, oddly calm since it had been a dream of my death.
In the house I grew up in, I had waited along with two other people—I think friends from elementary school, now grown. My mother paced the front yard, checking the road for someone, then stopping to tell me I didn't need to do it.
The sway of the thin branches of an elm ushered in a breeze and with it a scent of summer rain. Nervous glances to each other, the two people waiting with me began to walk toward the road then ran as they reached the pavement.
“It will do no good,” my mother said.
I knew they were scared and running would be their way of fighting back, futile or not, it was something for them to do.
We stood in my childhood bedroom and I picked through the suits I own today. Holding out the black one I had worn to Walterene’s funeral, I said “This will do, but I doubt I'll have an open casket, so I guess it really doesn’t matter.”
“They may be able to do something with the collar,” my mother said.
“Waiting is the hardest part.”
She nodded and lowered her thin body to the bed.
The sheers underneath the heavy drapes blew in the wind and I wondered if I’d feel the blade. Only for an instant, I thought, since the mind will be separated from the body or more realistically the head will be sliced from the torso. Beheaded…
Decapitated… The thought didn't bother me. I knew he was coming, and when he arrived, I’d die.
And waking up, I felt calm. As if I had accepted my death and only waited for it without fear or regret.