Like The Thud Of An Axe

People gather to watch executions.

I've never understood why. What possible reason could they have for wanting to see a stranger's life end? Do they want to see their head roll? Hear the snap of their neck? Do they want to be sure that it's real?

I can assure you, this is real. I've wished more times than I can count that it was a nightmare, an illusion; I've looked for mistakes made by my sleeping brain— and I've found none. This is absolutely happening.
I'm waiting in a room on my own. The bed's uncomfortable. It creaks whenever I sit down on it- so I'm standing. I've bitten my nails so much that my hands are bleeding, raw and painful. Earlier, they gave me a pristine white gown to wear. It's itching horribly at the collar, but I daren't touch it. What would they do to me, if I dared get blood on what was not mine?

A woman opens the door and takes my arm, leading me to where the crowds are waiting. I thought once that I knew her well. But how could I know she was capable of condemning me to this? She leads me past the throng of people, and I hear them catch their breath as one. There are people I know in the audience. A little girl makes to wave, but her mother snatches her hand when it is only halfway into the air.

I take my place at the front, and the woman slinks off to join the audience. The man before me begins to speak, but his voice simply washes over me. I wait for my part. Eventually he turns to me, but I hear him speak as though underwater. The words resolve themselves in my head, and I answer.

'I do.'

When the ring is shoved roughly onto my finger, the audience begin to clap. The applause sounds like the breaking of bones, like the thud of an axe.