Flash

A red balloon hung in the air, swaying at the end of the ribbon. I heard myself laughing, well, not exactly laughing, I was giggling. After all, I was only four.

The balloon elongated turning brown, becoming a football, my hands plucked it from the air as I scored my high school's game winning touchdown. I turned and hugged my closest teammate, then watched his jersey shift, becoming white, and transforming into a wedding dress. His helmet melted away, leaving a veil that covered the beautiful face of my wife.

We were pronounced man and wife and I leaned in for a kiss. My lips met the forehead of my son. I watched him smile. Bright eyed and happy, he smiled.

I saw his face transform, a decade older but still the same smile. Then the smile skewed, lips turned down, mouth open in agony. I heard him cry out, I watched the blood trickle from his face. I saw the drunken man emerge from another car without a scratch on him.

The tire stripe on the road leading from the stop sign he'd ignored widened, became a gravel walkway, it led to the drunkard's house. Inside, a light from an air freshener lit the man's room. I saw the hammer in my hand, felt the rage.

I watched the hammer fall, becoming wooden, a gavel. The judge had made his ruling: lethal injection. I stared at my hands, the metal cuffs became leather, spread to the sides of my body, and fastened me to the table. A blanket was the only thing covering me from the witnesses on the other side of the glass. The syringe was hardly felt. I told my wife I was sorry. And I wondered if my life would flash before my eyes.