The Clock of Justice

Tick, tick, tick.

John “Bones” Crawford sat in the state penitentiary electric chair awaiting his fate—forty-two seconds until the clock struck noon. He had readied himself to face the dark void a long time ago.

His lawyer told him there was nothing left he could do, unless they found new evidence. His appeals, money, and time had run out.

John knew he wasn’t a good person; he was a Hells Angel and a thief. But one thing he knew for damned sure, he wasn’t a murderer. Twenty years on death row for a crime he didn’t commit had broken him.

After running out of rage, joy, and visits from his daughter over the years, the will to live finally escaped him—there wasn’t a semblance of humanity left in him.

The Death Row executioner stood waiting, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple, his sweaty palm readied on the lever. He gulped as he watched the clock tick.

Tick, tick, tick. Four seconds left.

John sat emotionless, ready to be released from the walls of injustice, gripping the chair’s wooden arms.

Tick, tick, tick. Nothing happened.

The clock stopped at 11:59 with one second left. The head guard paused the executioner—maybe it was the battery.

There was a sudden knock at the death room’s door.

The head guard answered to John’s lawyer, who was sweating profusely and out of breath.

“John, we’ve found exonerating DNA evidence… you’re not a murderer. You’re going to be free.”