Jesus Dies
by Jason Rogers
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“Do you have any last words?� The warden said as he stared at Jesus in the electric
chair.
“Lord, why have you done this to me again?� Jesus said. His voice was muffled under
the black hood that covered his face.
The salt water was cold on Jesus’ newly shaved head and calf. Some of the water had
dripped off his head and down into his already bloodshot eyes. The salt did not hurt as much
as draw and quartering did. Jesus was not breathing rapidly from fear. He had been through
this fribble before. Many times.
There were only a few members from the execution team there. Two doctors, and the warden
were there to get their sights. No one knew that Jesus was on his 15th Coming. Nobody
knew that this was Jesus in the first place. Jesus didn’t care by anyway. He had stopped
caring. He had been executed so many times that he was pretty much going through the
motions by then.
Sometimes, he looked forward to the little sexual gratification of the executions. God didnâ
€™t like that shit, but what was He going to do about it? Jesus had to be fucking murdered
over and over again. And, after some time, Jesus started to like it a little.
New Hampshire, 1990 was the setting. One year before New Hampshire outlawed
electrocution and turned towards lethal injection.
The 1900 volts were sent through Jesus’ heavily scarred body. His fists clenched. Some
sparks and flames came from the calf. The smell of burning flesh was mind numbing as his head
billowed smoke through the black hood over his face. The chamber was filled with BBQ
Jesus. The viewers in the room would taste Jesus for days.
The thought of that electrocution was on Jesus’ apathetic mind as he lay on the lethal
injection table in present day Texas. Jesus had to stay in America for the 16th Coming and, by
now, for the cliché of being executed. It was a very familiar site. There were only a few
viewers to see Jesus executed; those that had to be there.
I hate My Dad, thought Jesus. He didn’t really hate God because God had sent Jesus to
die a fuck load of times. He hated God for creating humans.
The tubes ran through the walls into another room. There was also a video camera taping the
whole thing. That video would be much better evidence of Jesus’ obit than the shit that
Matthew and the boys left after Jesus’ first death.
The only other thought on Jesus’ mind at the time was the pain in his right leg from the IV
like contraption. The salt-water sponge of the last execution was better in his mind.
“Do you have any last words?� The warden asked. Jesus mouthed the words. He had
heard them so many times before.
“God, why have you…ahhh…whatever.�
The warden, the only person in the same room with Jesus, gave a signal to start the execution.
First, 50 cc of Sodium thiopental went into Jesus’ leg. Then, after 30 or so seconds, some
saline solution was pumped through the catheter tube to clean it out and to prevent any
chemical reaction. All this was supposed to be completely painless. However, Jesus’
mind made it hurt a little. From the pain came the familiar hard on. The 50 cc of Pancuronium
bromide and the 50 cc of Potassium chloride were pumped into Jesus’ veins.
Before Jesus lost consciousness, he remembered back to one of the hangings. The special
rope had a soap smell to it. The soap, Jesus would later learn was to help the rope slide over
his neck easier. Jesus’ hands were tied behind his back. That rope was not special and it
was digging into the wrists of Jesus. A little pain a little pleasure. He has learned to love it in
some sick way, like some couples love felching.
“Do you have any last words?� The familiar phrase came like a daily bowel movement.
“Do you have any last words?�
The phrases came so close to each other that it seemed to Jesus that the warden had said it
twice. But, he hadn’t. Jesus was wigging. The heat of the day was unrelenting and being
tied to a post in the middle of the hottest part of the day was not helping any. Even the firing
squad in front of Jesus was blurry from the heat.
“Fire!!!�
The one real bullet barreled through the air and all Jesus could think was, “He didn’t
even give me a chance to say anything.�
The cliché of having one’s life flash before your eyes at the moment of death was
something that happened too much for Jesus. The people of the world were so fucking
atrocious that Jesus couldn’t absolve all of their sin with just one more return. No. He had
to fucking come back and back and back. People were shit.
The bullet hit Jesus right in the forehead. The force of the bullet entering the head knocked
Jesus’ head into the post behind him. The bullet brought some of the flesh and bone into
the hole with it. It was a vacuum of sorts and was not uncommon for bullets to do that. Inside
Jesus’ head, the bullet didn’t have enough power to exit the skull, so it just bounced
around in the brain, causing damage to every part of Jesus’ head.
Blood poured from the entrance wound and from his mouth.
For people to live in this world, someone has to be miserable.
