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Gone

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The axe seemed to fall in slow motion. As it rushed towards the prisoners extended neck, his whole life rushed before his eyes, and in that one instance; as the gleaming metal edge bit down on taut flesh, he say not one thing done wrong, no reason for his doom. His death was unjust.

The End
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Ancestor You're currently reading a chapter in the story Demise. This chapter was posted on Feb 12, 2010 by Ancestor.

This is a solo story.

About this story

"The death of an unjust soul and the release of the weary."

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This story is filed under:
Just for Fun

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