Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers challenge.
Through the tiny skylight ten feet above his head he could see the pale blue of the early morning sky.
A day for living, he thought to himself. He yawned, rubbed his face and stretched. Luxuriously.
Yesterday had been the rehearsal. He had heard the sergeant shouting commands, “More to the left. A little bit closer”. Next, the clatter of the rifles being readied. The order, “Ready. Aim. Fire.” Ten firing pins hammering into empty breeches.
Today is the real thing. He had heard it’s a sell-out. Full house. Full breeches. A standing ovation. No encore.
A day for dying.