You met her that first day, when she was brought in, the fiery girl, spitting
and cursing, crying and screaming out her fear and rage.  She had long rust red
hair that fell to the small of her back, soft brown eyes tht bespoke
intelligence and compassion, and a gently curved frame, dimensions masked but
not hidden by the ugly orange prison coveralls she wore.
   She was bitter and would not talk to you for quite a while.  After all, you
were a guard, and she was a death row prisoner, convicted for a crime she
insisted she had not committed.  She pleaded and begged for released, cried for
her home and family, and raged at the injustice of it all.
   But after a time, you were able to get closer to her.  Her family never once
came to see her, ashamed, you suspected, to be seen supporting their death row
daughter.  The crime had been sensational, the brutal murder of a prominent
Washington Senator in what the tabloids luridly described as a Thrill kill. 
Supposedly she had seduced the Senator, and while he lay asleep, had stabbed him
over 57 times with a pair of scissors from his desk.
   She were found unconscious on the floor, covered in blood, the bloody 
scissors discarded on the floor a few inches from her outstretched hands.  She
claimed that a shadowy figure had struck her on the head, and she had been
unconscious the whole time.  The prosecutor said she had fallen off the bed and
struck her head while killing the senator in her blood crazed frenzy.
   It should come as no surprise that Justice is often blind.  So many questions
unanswered, so few facts pointing to her besides the circumstancial, no word on
why there were no fingerprints on the scissors, or any explanation of why the
trauma to her head was evaluated by experts and declared to be from a blunt
object and not the floor.  Someone had to pay, and she were the easy choice. 
She were convicted and sentenced to die by poison gas.
   Over the months of appeals and desperate legal wranglings, you and she
talked.  You learned of her dreams to be a teacher, how she desperately wanted
children, and her love for her beagle named Floyd.  So young she was, only 23,
life just starting, and now it would soon be over.  Tragic.
   At last the day arrived.  The day for her to take the final walk, to the
chamber where gas would be leaked into the airtight vault, and she would die. 
All appeals had failed, and the public was hungry for the spectacle of blood. 
It was your sad duty to walk the final "mile" with her, take her to the chamber,
and leave her there.  You almost quit your job, but in the end, you knew she
would want a friendly face with her at this last terrible moment of her life. 
And so you find yourself, walking with her, her hand in yours, her face
composed, her lovely red hair combed down, hanging low down her back.  She
walked proudly, her fears hidden behind the mask of dignity she had chosen to
present to the world you knew had wrongly convicted this innocent woman-child of
a terrible crime.  Only the strength with which she squeezed your hand revealed
the depths of her terror.
   You arrived at the chamber.  All around the room were glass windows, beyond
which media vultures and gawkers waited to pick the carcass of her life for one
last terrible meal.   You led her to the metal door, and she turned to you.
   "Will you do me one last favor?  Please?"
   You nodded, tears forming in your eyes.
   "I love you, and I have wanted you all these months.  If you can, please
deliver me to the funeral home.  Take a long route.  Take your time.  With me." 
she said, her eyes down, a small shiver going through her body.
   You stopped, stunned, but at last hesitantly agreed, knowing that she had
been in your fantasies ever since you met her.
   She stepped into the chamber, and you closed the door behind her.  The warden
spoke a few meaningless words, and a priest said a prayer to a lifeless deity,
and then they were gone.  You watched her through the glass, as the panel slid
open, and the gas began pouring into the small chamber.  You saw the fear build
in her eyes, breaking the core of her resolve.  Behind you the ghouls slavered
at the glass, hungry for death, scenting your fear like a dog smells his own
shit.  Disgust filled you, but a desperate longing overwhelmed it and you knew
you had to see.
   She stood amid the gas, holding her breath, loking about wildly, her red hair
flying into her face, as she sought some final exit.  But only one remained.  At
last she was forced to breath the poison.  Her eyes went wide, and she gasped
and gagged, stumbling as the lethal substance invaded her body.  She crashed
against the far wall, hands curled into claws, then slid to the floor, one leg
hammering against the floor, hands falling to her sides.  She began to quiver
gently, then fell still.  Her eyes stared into yours, then glazed slowly.  Her
head fell to one side.
   It was over.
   The doctor came to declare her dead when the gas was removed, and she was
bagged and taken away.  You volunteered to deliver the body.  Noone else wanted
to, so the warden let you do it.  He seemed sympathetic, but to you, they were
crocodile tears, that filled you with a sickness deep inside.
   "No hurry" he said  "Just try and get her out by tomorrow."
   He thought you would shirk this unpleasant duty, but you left immediately,
her body loaded into the van, and you drove away.  But not to the mortuary.
   No, istead you drove out of town, and along a country road to a secret place
you knew, a hidden glade by a pond, where noone ever went.  And there you
parked, and went to the back of the van, removing her body wrapped in thick
black plastic, the soft weight of her filling you with love and excitement.
   You opened the bag slowly, first revealing her still face, beautiful in
repose, a log of red hair lying across one cheek.  Then down farther to reveal
the gentle swell of her breasts through the ugly orange jumper.  Farther to
reveal curved hips and long legs.  Then you gently lifted her out of the bag,
and carried her to the shore of the pond, and laid her down in the lush green
grass.  Her amrs sprawled to the sides as you walked with her, her  head lolling
down, red hair trailing on the ground behind you.
   You moved with gentle care, letting your hands slowly run along the curves of
her body through the fabric, touching her, caressing her body.  You gently
kissed her cool lips, eyes, neck, and breasts.  Then you unzipped the jumper,
slowly, erotically, revealing her breasts, belly, then lifting her, sliding her
out of the cloth, and pulling it off her legs.  You discarded the item, and
stared down at her lovely body.
   Her breasts were small but well formed, hard nipples pointing upwards as she
lay.  Her hips flared gently, and her pubif hair was moist with the urine she
had spilled in the finality of death.  Her legs were shapely and inviting.
   You picked her up once more, and dipped her in the pond, washing her wastes
from her beautiful corpse, cleaning her and readying her for the act of love you
would give her, the cat she has asked you to grant her with her final words.
   Then you layed her back down into the grass under the warm sun, and took off
your own clothing so that you could lie nude beside her.  You kissed her cooling
lips, letting your tongue slip into her open mouth, and play with her tongue. 
Meanwhile your hands played across her dead breasts, the flesh firm and soft to
the your fingers.  You played with her hard nipples, the buds that had blossomed
in the final moment of her death, as her eyes had locked with your that last
time.
   You kissed her neck and then her breasts, sucking in her nipples and teething
them gently, while your fingers parted her folds, and laid bare her innermost
secrets.  You let a pair of fingers gently slide into her moist depths, drawing
them up to sniff her scent.  Then it was time.
   You parted her legs with your knees, and positioned yourself above her sex,
cock barely touching her folds, eyes looking down into her sightless gaze.  Then
you slid into her depths, while letting your weight drop onto her cooling body. 
You took her dainty fingers in your own, and gently slid her arms to the side,
while your lips locked with hers, kissing and loving her body.  The sensations
of her tight walls, cool against your fiery cock, so good, so very good.  She
had been a virgin, and you had to break her gateway to enter her, but she was
tight even in death, unsullied, untouched, you her first and final lover.
   Your length slid into and out of her depths, long enough to touch her inner
walls, while your hands roamed the lengths of her small body, touching hips,
belly, breasts.  You kissed her with passion, muttering words of love, nibbling
at her ears, teasing and loving her as you slid with increasing fervor into her,
driving yourself forward with moans of passion.  Her body kept rhytm with you as
your weight pushed her forward and back, her head nodding gently, breasts
wiggling when you lifted yourself by arcing your back.  The passion rose higher
and higher as you fucked her.
   Then you came, spraying her inner walls with your hot seed.  You thrust hard
into her, forcing more and more fluid from your engorged penis deeply into her,
knowing some part of you would go with her into the ground.
   Then you were spent, falling back against her cool corpse.  Exhaustion and
spent passion combined to draw you into sleep.
   When you awakened, she was cold under you, the morning dew dotting her face,
wetting her long hair.  But she was still so very beautiful that you felt
yourself grow so very hard, and you entered her once again, fucking her cold
form, the passion coming even harder and faster this time.  Her body was stiff
and so very dead.  But you loved her so that your heart would break.
   And then you knew you would never take her to the mortuary.  There was a
small spade in the vanb, used for digginf out stuck tires, and with it you dug a
shallow grave, and gently placed her lovely corpse within it.  She lay, angelic
in the warm embarce of the earth. You slowly covered her with a blanket of loamy
soil, to keep her warm throughout eternity.
   Then you went back to the van, and drove away, to whatever new life you would
find.  You could not return to the prison.  But you had done right by her.
   You had given her a proper finale.
   It was well.