Sleep
By
J.L. Young

The steps of the gallows creaked under my weight. My heels thumped the dry cottonwood as I reached the top. I was led to the center of the platform and turned to face the throng. The freshly fallen rain left standing water on the muddy cesspool warmly referred to as Main street. The thickly braided hemp placed around my neck and the knot pushed tight.

“Any last requests, son?” The hangman asked empathetically.

“Yeah.”

“Out with it.”

“No last rights.”

The hangman looked to the priest and shook his head. I have seen the priest’s response before. He looked confused at first and his grip tightened on his book. Soon thereafter, his mouth moved rapidly. I assume he was begging for protection.

I watched as the priest tore through the crowd in terror, looked to the hangman, and raised my brow. I glanced up at the Sun overhead, “Tempus Fugit, Carnufex.”

The orator stepped up beside the hangman and faced me. “Aldan Maland, for the assassination of the Senator of the great state of Kansas, you have been sentenced to hang from the neck until dead. Do you have any last words?”

“Yes, my deed is done. Can I sleep now?”

“Very well,” he said and nodded towards the hangman.

My executioner slipped an itchy potato bag over my head. I closed my eyes and waited.

The floor fell from beneath me and I felt my neck snap under my weight. Flashes of light came through the sack as my body jerked. Then the light fell to darkness.

• “Doctor Shana Engel, Day fifteen of the land reclamation project. Subject number KLRP15-225. Burial marker 225 Aldan Maland. Year of birth, Unknown. Year of death, 1863. It’s strange how remarkably intact the subject is. His skin is still supple after 157 years. It’s astonishing. I’m getting carried away with myself.”

She continued, “I’d say the subject is in his early to mid-thirties, putting his birth year somewhere around 1830. I’m opening the subject’s right eye. There doesn’t seem to be any degeneration of the ocular tissue.”

The iris contracted and the doctor flew to the corner of the room as the eye snapped shut. The body remained motionless on the exam table. “Get a hold of yourself, Shana,” the doctor breathed to calm herself. It was only a muscle contraction.” She caught herself in a lie, “That can’t be, he’s been dead for century and a half.”

She approached the table again with a penlight, spread open the eyelids. and fired the beam at the pupil. It contracted sharply. Doctor Engel flew out of the room and into the corridor. She slid to the opposite wall where she caught her feet. Two people were in the hallway reading a report, “Where’s Doctor Silva?”
“I think she’s in the commissary,” one of them answered.

Engel took off again, hollering, “Thank you.”

She entered the commissary and scanned the room hoping to catch a glimpse of her colleague. Her eyes locked onto her co-worker and friend. She dodged several people as she sprinted up to her, “Addison.”

“What is it, Shana?”

Shana caught her breath looked down at the tray Addison was going to discard, “You’re throwing out your fruit salad?” She snatched it from the tray.

“You didn’t come racing down here to save my fruit salad, Shana. What is it?”

“Come, I’ll show you.”

They reached the exam room, “Can you stop pulling my sleeve. I can walk, you know.”

Shana stopped, staring at the man standing before them, resetting his neck.

“Oh, Shit!” Addison exclaimed.

His clothes laid tattered around him on the floor. He turned toward the women, “Why have I been awakened?”