Execution (Part 1)

I hear sprinkling, like dry beans spilling over a table top. It comes in rhythmic bursts, a repetitive hit and scatter overhead. I blink a few times as my eyes adjust to the dense darkness. Something swatted and cut before raining down, piling up. I have a rotten feeling.

Dirt, they're shoveling dirt! I'm being buried alive.

I try to sit up but am compressed by the low ceiling, the space is too cramped.

I scream, panicked, "Hey, hey! Let me out, I'm still alive!"

I kick and beat against wood and it's clamped tight. I can't seem to break out, the box is shirking around me!

More soil spills across the lid, they can't hear my call or they just don't care. I shuffle around, searching frantically in the small enclosure. My hands grope around, one hits a taffeta wall while the other discovers a startling shape beneath cloth that isn't the casket lining, my arm flinches back. I freeze with an intake of breath, I'm not alone.

I lean away involuntarily. Juniper's familiar scent of winter sakura envelopes the coffin but it smells stagnant and wrong, too sweet like rotting fruit. I glimpse the body next to me, an outline of a head connected to shoulders. Her face materializes, if you'd call it that, it's a horrifying festering atrocity. It's worse than having no head at all!

Beetles creep and maggots wriggle, weaving in circles around the deformed ridges of her skull, a thin layer of flesh is barely clinging to the sharp bones.

I watch in disgust as a centipede wanders out from the split of her mouth like a devil's forked tongue. It's bright shiny head wags side to side as it slithers forward, extremities wiggling out from her lusterless shrunken lips. Another comes crawling into view, vanishing into an angular hole where a nose should be.

I push myself away until my back bangs against the casket confines. My hands fly up to cover a silent scream.

My heart takes a skyscraper plunge as Juniper's entire figure contorts my direction. Papery eyelids peel back, receding and disappearing into the skeletal black sockets. Her eyes are clouded over like two fish eggs floating in a cadaverous skull. There's the nauseating noise of insects gathering, feasting on who knows what. Like fingertips squealing against cellophane.

"Help," I croak, the plea is stuck in my throat, "Help!"

Her pupiless irises stare, jaw clicking and cracking like dusty sandstone as it spreads into a hideous grin. Insects squirm between long daggered teeth, burrowing into orifices, swarming in and out of sparse patches of hair. The slimy rustling can't be ignored as they seem to multiply from thin air. They're pouring, falling out of her rotten face and flailing on the coffin floor. Bug legs kicking in the air as they cannibalize each other.

"It's your turn little lamb," her voice is gravely and distorted like we've been sealed together for decades, "Your blood, spare me some of your blood."

"No," I mouth, it's hardly audible, "Get me out!"

"What's wrong, petite? You're alive, aren't you?"

"Not like this. I don't want to live like this!"

"We're immortal," she drawls and her wretched face deteriorates further, skin shriveling away like burning plastic. Her lips deflate and curl back, exposing a full skeleton grin. Ants pour from her sockets, swarming those gooey marble eyes.

"We can never die! We will *never* die!" Juniper bellows, her tone descends into terrible rasps.

I scream as she lunges herself at me, boney hands coming for my throat!

I cough, gaging on the musty air, recovering from my guttural suck of breath. I clutch at my neck, beyond disoriented but finding my windpipe free of crushing fingers.

"It's fine, just the fledgling," says a disembodied voice, it's fuzzy like they're speaking through a tube, "Don't get distracted."

My eyes flare as the confusion fades into a murky hangover. A dismal cave, not an insect infested coffin with a talking corpse. A nightmare then, though the real one doesn't appear to be over.

I flinch as more soil is thrown against a non-existent lid. I identify the sound. It's too light and precise to be dirt, more like the clinking of casino chips.

"Why are you wearing that?" barks a stilted woman's voice again, clearer this time, "You know Christina will make you get rid of that bracelet if she sees it."

"Huh?" follows a man's aloof response with another clink of chips, "Nah, she wouldn't, it's my special charm. This is real coconut."

"Yeah, well hide it. You're driving me nuts! Twenty beads…" she grumbles, "The only thing special about it is that it ends on a zero."

"Oh yeah, sorry. I forget you have to count."

I listen hard, trying to figure out what they're up to. Large objects are sliding around, like a rake dragging across the floor with a heavy cloth sack… the unpleasant thought of a body comes to mind and won't leave.

I claw through the disorientation, dig through my memory for answers. What happened? I feel horrible and starving, just like before.

Before what? Shouldn't I be sated? I remember blood… Oh no.

That innocent girl. My breath catches as it all comes back. 'Did I? Did I…' My denial is lifted before I can recognize it as the preferable state of mind. And Juniper! I wince and suck at my teeth failing to roll quietly onto my side. I hurt all over, it's like someone sucked all the liquid from my veins, a step up from a mummified corpse.

"Did they bleed the chick?"

"Yes, but we need to secure her. I saw the aftermath of her last meal," the girl reiterates my fears, "Never underestimate the starved."

Did I… Kill? My chain cuffs rattle as I glimpse my hands, poorly wiped down, the dirty missed spots stand out, the fingers and joints feel extra stiff. There are fresh slices down each wrist, like a staged suicide, open bloodless sores that aren't healing for some reason. I recall a fragmented event of being hung upside down, the uncomfortable shock of having life drained out.

I'm unnerved by the sight but am most disturbed by the faintest traces of *her*, the dried violence on these ruined clothes, the girl I drank. I want to puke though nothing will come up. I'm a *murderer*.

My knuckles crack painfully as they clench, and I begin to cry. It hurts my head, the guilt clutches at my withered stomach. This ache in my heart, so empty. No psychic connection.

I don't feel Juniper, her reactionary touch to ease my distress. I can't believe she's gone. I'm going to die a killer, all alone.

"What the hell did Christina *do* to her, anyway? Why does her head or neck or whatever *look* like that?" The guy exclaims, I impulsively touch my neck and face but he isn't talking about me, "This is some really creepy stuff, like, beached squid levels nasty."

"What, you want to ask her? Be my guest, but I am *not* going to be the one questioning her. Let's just do what she says and get them out of here."

Them. Is that June? Anxiety puts my tears on hold. They already took her head! Did they honestly continue to desecrate her body?

"She, like, mutilated her!" the man goes on, I want to see what more they could have done but also really don't, "Seriously, that's not normal. I mean, look at the hair!"

"I don't want to look at it, I want to be done. Are you finished gawking so we can prepare the girl?"

"Yeah, ok. Ugh, that's not right. Did you watch this happen?"

"I wasn't there for the trial but I was for the arrest. This… *demon woman* nearly ended me."

"Seriously?"

I wait for them to continue, holding my breath. There's a long enough silence for the familiar drip to ripple through the cavern.

"A third of Altissimo…" the girl finally responds, "Has returned to ashes."

"What! That's… That's… Nu-uh! Christina's horde is a powerhouse. Aren't you one of the younger ones in her sect? And, no offense, but you're no spring chicken."

More silence. It sounds like maybe… Juniper actually terrified them.

"What about the Oracles? Didn't they see-"

"Wiped," the girl interrupts his inquisitive shock, "Christina has never seen eye to eye with Oracles. Clarise predicted disaster in coming to the states, but here we are. And Clarise is missing."

They continue discussing something that obviously has the girl shaken up, but I don't think it's going to help me. The belated order of *prepare the girl* starts to sink into my groggy brain. I'm most likely "that girl" and it doesn't sound good for me.

I slink my cuffed hand into a good position while they're distracted chatting. You can get out of cuffs if you dislocate the thumb, right? That's gotta be painful, am I ballsy enough to go through with it? I doubt I'll be able to keep quiet. They're right there! My wrists are aching, this silver isn't helping the nausea. Maybe I can grease up my hand with something.

I recall the nameless girl's slick blood coating my hands, running down my chin and the front of my shirt. Lying in it, rolling in it. How warm, how disgustingly good. A sinful comfort, corrupted heaven. The last good thing I'll ever have was also the most awful.

I flinch hearing something nudged with a kick and tune into the conversation again.

"Hey, buck up. She's dead, see?" he nudges the thing again with his foot, "I mean, immortal or not, no one is going to survive… *that*."

"You're right, you're absolutely right," she takes a quick breath, "There's no way."

The water works start acting up but this time it's sheer terror from a sense of impending doom. I am kidding myself, there's no escape. My untimely sniff is louder than intended.

"I know some of you sickos like it when they cry," the guy mutters, approaching and kneeling down to fiddle with my shackles, "but it still depresses me."

"Then let's get this over with," suggests the woman without enthusiasm.

My clasps spring open as he unlocks them. There's a wash of relief as the silver is cast aside, no longer in contact with my raw skin. My wrists begin to tingle. I can actually feel the deep cuts closing despite my condition. All things considered, it's pretty amazing. Too bad it's not going to save me.

Apparently, I'm not the only one who's amazed, "Are you seeing this? You're sure they bled her, right? She should not be healing like that!"

"Well, yes?" she responds unsure and equally perplexed, "I don't know, just get her on the pikes."

Arms wrap around my waist to pull me into a sitting position, I let out a groan of pain. Even if I got free of the cuffs, how did I expect to get away? It feels like I've been hit by a truck. The other one drags that hefty scraping thing over to us.

"So," the man inquires, "what did this one do?"

"Nothing," the woman sighs in my ear, "She had the misfortune of being turned by the wrong vampire."

"Oh," he says, hesitating before quietly adding, "Man, some Thorn can be harsh."

I feel hair rustle against my ear as she nods.

She releases my waist as a flat support takes her place, pressing against my spine, a plank or board. I hear sturdy latches unbuckle, then metal sliding together like the sharpening of a carving knife. I twitch as a sudden pang of intuition shouts warning, but it's too late.

I gasp, arching from the pressure as I'm impaled. I feel my eyes bulge like they'll explode from my head as some forgien device is shoved through my back. It bows, curling and ripping through my insides. My mouth falls open to cry out but nothing comes. I hear it scraping across my bones, feel it rattle my teeth. I watch a metal point arc toward my face. A scythe splitting into my ribcage from behind!

My mouth hangs open and shock steals the scream. There's a deafening ring in my ears. I taste death, bitter and sharp.

Two more bolts of agony shoot through my shoulders. Teeth smack together as my jaw clamps tight. I nearly take my tongue off and hear an acute crack. I witness the flat of glinting silver hook beneath my clavicles. These ones curve at a slant, threatening to kabob my heart.

I convulse from the searing horror, my body silently screams at the three hunks of silver burst out of my chest.

It feels like my tears are burning through my cheeks, the air seems to be biting, eating my skin. That sickening ringing is getting louder.

I don't feel anything and then I feel everything at once like a fission bomb about to detonate, a metallic bile is boiling up my throat. My stomach is churning, shredding apart, my chest is on fire.

My senses are flying off the scale, running wild. Vile colors flash all around in quick awful explosions.

My mouth falls open again to let it out in a burst of oxygen but I don't hear anything. Then like an old TV set, I overheat and power down in a zap of static consciousness.