To everything, Tern Tern Tern, there is a season
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To everything, Tern Tern Tern, there is a season
October 13 2006 at 2:26 PM |
Harbinger Of Death |
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Tern wandered around, looking at the drowning pool, then the gas chamber, then the animal cages. She just wasn't sure.
"Need a hand?" She turned to see the Harbinger's black robes and skeletal face.
She shrugged. "Got any suggestions? I just don't know where to go."
"Well, let's have a seat and we'll figure it out." He waved her over to a small booth with a table and two chairs, and pulled out a short questionnaire. "First question. If you could have a hamburger or a hot dog right now, which would you choose?"
"Hot dog."
"Do you prefer to use a push mower or a rider mower when mowing your lawn?"
"Rider."
"Do you like pot pies?"
"Um, I guess so."
"How about thunderstorms?"
"I can live without them."
"Okay, come with me." Harbinger took her hand and led her to the gallows. She closed her fingers around the cold phalanges.
"This is it, huh?" She looked up at the noose that was swaying slowly in the breeze.
"Fits your profile. Shall we?" They walked up together and HoD handed Tern over to the executioner, who fastened several clusters of weights to her ankles and pulled the rope down around her neck. "Want the hood on?"
"Nah," said Tern. "I like to face things head-on. It'll be more scary if I can't see anything."
He nodded. "Good girl. Okay Phil, let 'er rip." Harbinger gave her a soothing pat on the head just before Phil pulled the lever and she went plummeting through the trap door. There was a brief rush of adrenaline during the fall, then an enormous amount of pressure around her neck with an almost simultaneous snapping sound inside her head that seemed extraordinarily loud, and then it was all black.
When she could see again, she was watching Phil unhitch her body from the weights and the noose from down below on the ground. HoD was next to her ghost. "Run along," he said, and with another pat on the head, he was gone.
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