This is a (really) short story I had to write for my creative writing class. I was supposed to write something based on an experience I'd had at the museum where the class is. One exhibit there is described in the story. Let me know what you think. It might be a bit hard to understand having not seen the exhibit, but whatever.
The noose loomed large before me. Well, all three of them did; but the one in the middle, the one destined for my neck, loomed largest. Thick, penetratingly black paint coated each gallow pole from which the nooses hung...they were mounted on a wall. Each pole had a mirror immediately to its right. I used mine to make sure my hair was in the proper order. I looked at my comrades in death to the left and to the right of me; they had similar vain ambitions. After all, when your neck is twisted and elongated, you at least want to look presentable.
The cross-like visages once again enveloped my senses. I wondered if these instruments of death were meant to convey that imagery. I thought it likely as I read myself my own last rites in my head. I thought so because there was no platform. I supposed that I would just be left hanging there, my hands bound, until I succumbed to asphyxiation, as if I'd been crucified.
Jarring my mind back to reality was a strange vibration in my side pocket. The alarm I'd set had gone off. Twelve thirty. Time to head back to the room.
