Jack looked at the clock. The secondhand was accelerating and wouldn't stop.
"I can't believe that they're going to give it to me on my birthday," Jack lowered his head as the words escaped him.
"It's just a coincidence that your execution was set on your birthday. Your attorney's have done all they can, Jack. I heard from the guards that you have an appeal with the governor tonight at 11:00. All you can do now is hope for a stay or a pardon," whispered Father Chad, perhaps the last man Jack would ever carry on a conversation with.
The taunting words of the priest burned the remaining hopes Jack held.
State Courts had rejected his appeal. The Federal District court had turned him down. Yesterday, the Supreme Court refused to hear his appeal. Fate had clearly dealt Jack his cards.
"It was just a stupid mistake!" screamed Jack.
His anxiety was obvious. The sweat from his forehead had made it's way to his gouty in mere seconds. Jack began to pick at the scar on his left cheek in an attempt to calm his nerves.
It was actually more than a stupid mistake. Jack was a mean drunk. He only meant to shoot the idiot who was busy assaulting an underaged girl at the time. But once he pulled the trigger, he kept shooting. The pedophile, as well as the innocent girl, were dead. Now, it was Jack's turn. For sixteen years, since 2004, he had been waiting on death row. Tonight, at one minute past midnight, he would die by lethal injection.
"They're going to execute you at midnight to avoid another full day of appeals," mumbled the crocked priest. His only hope now was the governor.
"Jack, its time to go,"...