Blink

by Peter Miller

The pain, when it came as he guessed it would, was indescribable. An incandescent surge of agony in purest form. The world tilted sickeningly, faces flashed past.

He was suddenly still. Through brilliant sparkles of light he could see Furio, shocked, holding the notebook.

“Blink,” Lavoisier thought, “I must blink.” He blinked. Then twice more.

Furio scribbled.

Again, the chemist blinked. By this at least, science would be served.

One final attempt but his will was gone. He watched, vision disintegrating as they dragged his headless body from the guillotine.

“My God,” Furio thought. “Thirty seconds.”