“They willl forget you, you know.” He said taking the needle and squirting it lightly as he scanned for a suitable vein.
“It doesn’t matter,” I sighed, “I had to say it, all the words. Freedom is important. They may forget me, but you can’t kill an idea. If I have to die so be it, I will meet my maker in peace. And my words are out there for all to know forever in the minds of future generations. They may forget me, but they will remember my ideas.”
With that the executioner plunged the needle into my vein and I drifted into darkness and laid down my pen pondering what ideas I really should leave for future generations and would they remember me?
About the Creator
Zelda Foxx
Mother of two facing a mid life crisis or finally living my dreams of trying to make something of my words.
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More stories from Zelda Foxx and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The road out
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Comments (2)
Sorry not on here as much as I should be, so I just saw your comment so I really appreciate it!
Thanks!