The date had been set for months, but still, he wasn’t ready. He’d had his last meal, he heard (but not understood) the words of the priest and he’d talked with his lawyer and his sister. But still, before the last chair he’d ever sit it, Leonard Luther Allen’s knees gave out.
The chair dominated the small room, it was so big. But he barely saw the chair. There, in the air around it, were faces. Their faces. Staring. Judging. One laughing.
“No,” he said.
“Yes,” they replied.
Leonard’s victims watched as the guards pushed him into the chair...and minutes later, judgment came.
This ties into an idea I've had knocking around my head for a supernatural thriller for quite a few years now. I haven't written it, because I'm not sure if it should be a novel or a screenplay.