Riding the White Scream
by R.T. Allenson
Jerry finally understood what was the single fault of time – a hairline crack within its gradients , between then, here and beyond wherein one can pass through unscathed and traverse time as simply as if crossing the street. It was like a sudden a flash of memory and of uncountable ages passing through your mind with such speed that within an eyeblink, one can capture a whole universe’s lifetime.
All his preparation amounted to this and he needed to be precise; he only had one shot at this after all. The electric chair would not kill him if and only if they pressed the button at the precise moment – between seven and eight and before the hand reaches the second fifth. He was sure to make it succeed as there were deeper laid plans beyond their scope of knowing. And he delighted at this fact, fueling his callous bravado, knowing that everything still moved according to his wishes.
There was a price for this though but he was never really sold on his sanity but death, death was too steep a price to pay even for a man with nothing to lose. This was his last gamble and he was sure to make it right.
What was waiting for him would be pure sentiment but it meant everything to him. To see them once more, he thought. It was everything. Anything else meant nothing.
As the hour drew near he could see clearly the movement of the clock’s hand slow, feel it grind to a stop within his mind and carry on screeching like car brakes into eternity and into the doorstep of madness. Jerry closed his eyes as he felt this last minute pass him by and then, with a press of a button, he began riding the white scream.