The Grace of God

As a door opened somewhere, a quick burst of music snuck out. It was Sugar, Sugar by the Archies and it took me back to one of my school dances (all too briefly) a lifetime ago.
As I got up off the bed, the lime green walls closed in to meet me. There were no windows to look out of and no neighbours to chat to. I guess I had done with my chatting and exchanging pleasantries.
"I hope you die screaming you bastard! Her voice pierced the courtroom, making the stenographer jump. I remembered her elfin-like face, transformed.
I had no doubt I would.
Things seemed very different now, after judgement day. Now I had my date and time of death. Now I knew the why's, how's and wherefore's. Now I could mull over the horror stories of things gone wrong and 'agonizing death throes'. Now I was going to ride Old Sparky, things seemed mighty different.
I wanted my last few hours to be as normal as possible, but of course it was not to be. People were courteous to a fault with 'Mr' this and 'Mr' that. And each time someone spoke to me, I couldn't help thinking "will he be the one to flip the switch? But everyone had their human masks on and I got no clues.
Things that once brought me comfort now dug pits in my stomach. I did not want to see friends and family. I did not want to 'get myself right with God'. I did not want to be me. I wanted to be them ' the guard, the cook, the trustee, the early bird just catching the worm, the lock on the door, the tear on my cheek. Please God, let me be anything or anyone but me. Grant me that one miracle. For me. Just the one.
He wasn't listening.
I screamed aloud and listened to myself. Is that what I'll sound like? Or will my vocal chords do the old snap, crackle and pop?
And then, for one tiny moment in time, one immeasurable moment, I would be so immersed in pain and self pity that it would all seem unreal ' a bad dream brought on by an undercooked burger maybe. But the minute I tried to hold that thought it would slip away and I would return to checking the room for undiscovered escape tunnels or wormholes to other dimensions.
I only have four hours left. Why can't you let me live them how I want? Let me out for a walk! I promise I'll come back ' honest!
My gaze took in my water jug. If only it was a genies lamp! I could wish to live. In poverty. In filth. In a dump, a swamp. I don't want money, I just want to do missionary work and help people. Why won't you let me help people? Please let me live. Please. I was young back then, when I had the power over life and death. But I didn't know anything, didn't know any better, didn't know the ways of the world.
I closed my eyes and imagined the Governor brushing his teeth, talking to his wife, lying in bed reading. I bet he wasn't thinking of me. I willed him to think of me ' but I knew he would only do so if asked. And his reply would be from his stock pile of politically correct ones. So I thought of me for him.
Me, and my soon to be confrontation with death. Me, lying in my own shitty mess.
"Christ, what a smell¦ someone would say.
"Yeah, there but for the grace of God¦