"Beheading Hannah"
By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu)

URL: https://pastebin.com/VfNDyjPD
Created on: Tuesday 1st of October 2019 12:30:39 AM CDT
Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:05:46 AM UTC



Beheading Hannah
« on: September 16, 2019, 06:30:56 pm »
Quote
[I've rarely attempting writing stories before, but, for some reason, tonight I just sat down and this all flowed out onto the page.
I know how things work around here, so I don't expect much feedback  ;)  - but if you think it's in any way good, do let me know and I might try and write a few more.
Anyway, for what it's worth, here's Beheading Hannah.]



She actually looked bored as she ascended the steps to the scaffold.
She knew it was a sexualised exhibition, anyway. She was wearing the standard attire of the condemned: nothing but a sheer white shirt, no jeans, no shoes, no underwear. She actually flashed her unshaven pussy at the executioner as she stepped onto the scaffold. She was being treated as nothing more than a piece of meat, and, in a few minutes, she would be nothing more than a piece of meat, growing cold, lying headless, as her blood pooled around her on the scaffold.
Why fight the inevitable?

Hannah yawned, quite dramatically, for the audience, patting her mouth with her hand. Then she strode, with purpose, to the rough-hewn block, and knelt down daintily. She shimmied herself closer until her breasts were pressed tight against the wood, then stuck her ass in the air so that the shirt slipped down the small of her back, exposing her rear end for all to see.
Then she laid her neck on the block.

She reached forward with her right hand, gathering her hair and arranging it to fall down beside her chin, and gave a quick tug on her shirt, exposing her slender neck. She was careful to ensure that her ass remained exposed. If they wanted a show, she would give it to them.
“Right,” she thought. “Let’s get this over with.”

At that moment she felt a piercing breeze, and the whole scaffold seemed to shudder. There was a ringing in her head, and an odd feeling of pressure right behind her ears. A slow, thundering roar seemed to ooze through the air around her, as if the crowd had suddenly cheered, but in slow motion. And her whole body felt paralysed, like all her muscles had locked at once.
“Well, this is a bit uncomfortable,” she thought, a little groggily. “Why doesn’t he just hurry up and head me?”

He had.

Unbeknownst to Hannah, the executioner had unleashed a mighty swing just as she was tugging her shirt, shearing through her flesh and bone and burying his axe deep into the wood beneath her neck. He stumbled backwards from the effort of the blow; and then his jaw dropped at the sight before him – something he had never witnessed any other time he hacked off a head.

Hannah was kneeling there still, her ass perked up in the air, her chin tucked neatly on the other side of the block. The heavy axe was buried deeply through her neck: it was clear that the girl was now divided into two distinctly separate parts. It was just that she didn’t seem to realise it.
Her fingers trembled a little.
She had an impatient, if slightly dazed, expression on her face.

The ringing in Hannah’s head was only increasing. “What the fuck is he waiting for?” she thought. “Why is he making me wait? Just get the damn thing done.”

She tried to turn her head and take a quick glance at the executioner, but no movement came; it seemed almost like her neck had disappeared.
She tried to say “Is there a problem?” but her lips seemed terribly dry; and when they moved, no sound came through her mouth.

The executioner stood, amazed at what he was seeing. The crowd, too, had fallen silent in confusion. Hannah’s whole body was beginning to tremble now, very gently, as if it was slowly coming to the realisation that it no longer had a head.

“Why … why can’t I move my toes?” It seemed like a strange observation, but Hannah’s thoughts were becoming more and more confused. The ringing inside her seemed to have been joined by a buzzing that was growing ever louder. She felt numb. And a little sick. And more than a little drunk.

And that was when she noticed some locks of her strawberry platinum hair seem to have detached themselves, and were floating down to the ground beneath her. And what was that warm wetness that suddenly seemed to have sprung up beneath her chin and behind her ears?

The executioner, unsure of what to do, raised his foot to Hannah’s shoulder, and shoved. Her body sprawled across the scaffold, her ruined neck spewing blood into the air. And that was when the convulsions started: her headless body began to thrash and to roll, her legs kicking, her arms flailing. And an audible sigh of relief arose from the crowd, followed by laughter, and jeers, and cheering. At least one part of Hannah finally seemed to realise she had been beheaded.

Hannah herself had no idea that her body was gone. She was still concentrating on trying to move her toes. Her head remained perched on the block, blinking. Her lips seemed terribly dry. And that was when she realised – in a horrid, sudden jolt that cut through the ringing and the buzzing throughout her like the sharpest of knives – that she had stopped breathing.

At the very same moment, she felt fingers curling into her hair, and the whole world swung, and she was lifted high, high, high into the air. The whole world was still swinging, but she caught glimpses of the cheering crowd, a bloody block with an axe buried deep inside it, and then, as the headsman turned her carefully so she could see herself, a headless, thrashing body, clad only in a white shirt that was drenched in blood, jerking and bucking on the scaffold. “It’s just like a chicken,” she thought, in passing. “She almost looks like she’s having sex with nobody.”

“But … wait …”

That was when Hannah realised she was seeing herself, and watching her own beheaded body. And that was when Hannah screamed. But she never made a sound.