Jessica Wilson is at college senior preparing to graduate and start a career in teaching. She has loved writing stories since the fifth grade and reading for even longer, and hopes to inspire a similar love of both reading and writing in her future students. She is an aspiring author who writes predominantly fantasy, but enjoys branching out into other genres on occasion. This is her first published work of fiction, but she hopes that many more will follow.
Death in Theatre
by Jessica Wilson
I had hoped my death would be more theatrical.
At least I gave Lincoln that. What could be more theatrical than being killed in the theatre? Granted, my performance was the more thrilling of the two. Still, his death will certainly be remembered as one with a certain amount of dignity.
Not for me, though. It’s tragic. Strange how sharp my thoughts are when I can’t even move my body. The deep hot ache in my neck has faded, but now I can feel the terrifying numbness in my limbs. I had to have my murderer raise my hands so I could see them; I could not raise them myself. ‘Useless, useless,’ I said, but those were the last words I could force out. My mind may be clear, but even my mouth isn’t working right now. They try to get me to swallow something—water, brandy?—but my throat won’t work. Not surprising. I believe they shot a gaping hole through it.
I wish death would come faster. They’re rifling through my pockets like I’m already dead. Not that I can feel it. But I saw my diary in their hands. Let them read it. Maybe they will realize why I did it. Why it was worth it.
Though a more dignified death. That would have been better. Better than lying like a sack of grain on some farmer’s porch. A farmer who didn’t even recognize me. Not even when the news of Lincoln’s death finally reached him.
Such a shame.