The Cradle
by Kinto Mythostian


I stare down at the solid wooden block as Danielle gently binds my wrists behind my back. I have spoken the words that have condemned me, the final acquiescence from which there is no turning back. I have chosen to die. I shiver, even though my formal Gray dress is more than warm enough.

Danielle gently touches my shoulder; I genuflect beside the block and lay my neck across the surface. The curve of the wood accepts my neck readily. A bead of sweat rolls down the dun fur of my cervine muzzle, drips off the end of my black nose, and lands in the silk-lined wicker basket that patiently waits to catch my head. 

I call upon my training, clearing my mind and slowing my breathing, gently telling my body to relax. There is no need to fear. One swift stroke, a spurt of blood, a last reflexive shudder, and my life will end. There is a prickling of faint excitement in my loins at the thought, a welcome pleasure. I have always found myself drawn to death; a fascination, a desire I could never explain. It excites me, and now it is at last my time to experience it myself. The tension ebbs from my body and I reach out with my senses, exploring the moment. 

I swallow, my throat bulging against the wood so that I feel every notch in the scarred surface. Soon, there will be one more scar in the wood and one fewer doe among the living. The stained wood is warm, a gentle thing easing the transition from life to death. Its solidness is soothing. Perhaps all the life this block has drunk has given it life of its own. 

How many have knelt where I now kneel? How many have felt what I now feel? How many willing sacrifices has this block cradled in their final moments?

"'Now I lay me down to sleep...'" I whisper into the basket, my pillow.

Danielle lifts the ceremonial axe from its case and hefts it above me, lining up her stroke. I take a last calm breath, shut my eyes, and signal my readiness by nodding my head a single centimeter.

A swishing sound, and a CHOP. A single moment of acute pain, and then a tingling, as though my whole body has fallen asleep. Flashes of confused thought circle through my head and vanish. I open my eyes a fraction and see the Gray silk of the basket swaddling me and know the deed is done. I close my eyes again and peacefully fade into death.


First draft written March 23, 2012. Editing completed March 27, 2012.