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Last Days of a Severed Head

A sharp glare of light reflecting off the cold steel made me shut my eyes just at the moment that the blade met the skin of a neck. My neck. It didn't prevent me from hearing the sudden hush of the crowd, then its subsequent roar. As I opened my eyes, the ground was rushing up at me and tumbling out of view. Rushing up and tumbling away. Up and away. Up and away until my nose caught the edge of the basket and I flipped the other way.

I never imagined I'd be so aware once I was separated from my body. I wasn't sure how long it'd last.

As soon as I stopped rolling and rocking, two huge thumbs gripped the edge of the basket. They were pale gray and hard, yet the nails were smooth and glossy. The basket lunged up. Blood rushed back. I began to fade out. My vision cleared up as the basket stabilized. A rough, stubbled chin hovered amongst the clouds. I felt a bit motion sick, but I didn't have to worry about vomiting. This was both relieving and frustrating. I hadn't realized how much a release vomiting could be.

The big thumb man placed the basket on something at his waist level. There must've been many others, because my basket was pushed and jostled many times. I rolled around and bruised my eye and my cheek, as if being beheaded hadn't been enough.

I'm not sure what direction I was facing. Whichever it was, we started moving in the opposite, with a jerk. My nose smashed against the basket. I then rolled back and lay gazing at a crisp clear blue sky. Though a bit shaky, I rather enjoyed the view. A strong scent of roasting pig wafted up my nostrils. I almost hadn't noticed that I'd still my sense of smell. I just couldn't breathe it in. My mouth watered. It leaked out of my neck. A strange sensation indeed. Then the roasting pig scent gave way to manure. Oh, how I wished I could reach up and plug my nose.

Day became night. The stars sure shone bright that night. Brighter than I'd ever remembered. Perhaps because it was the last I'd see them.

Night became day. And this day was hot. The stench of rotting flesh began to make its way into my nose. Some of these heads had been sitting out for weeks. Sweat pooled and stung my eyes. After the sun baked us for hours, clouds came into vision. They promised relief. Then more clouds appeared. They threatened rain, and they burst. I had no lungs, so the water rushed straight through. I thought how lucky I was to have no lungs. A stupid thought to one who's already been decapitated.

I felt sleepy, so I shut my eyes. I figured it'd be the last time.

It wasn't. I awoke abruptly. We stopped, and again I bashed my nose against the basket. A faint odor entered my bashed nose. Two small thumbs appeared. They gripped the edge and carried me closer to the odor. The closer we got, the stronger it became, and the more I realized what it was. Burning flesh and hair.

Small thumbs dumped me onto a pile of rotting heads. And I got hair in my mouth. I could feel the heat from the furnace. It started to burn my skin. An old dry hand suddenly grabbed my hair. It yanked me from the pile and chucked me through the air. As I sailed toward the furnace, my life flashed before my eyes. It's just like you always hear. All of it flashed in a matter of seconds. What a short life.

The next thing to flash before my eyes was fire. And let me tell you, fire is hot. Very hot.

Learn more about this author, Reed Daigle.
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