Crossroads for Donovan Cook

Behold the epitome of composure. A man so cold hearted that he could give Jack Frost himself shivers down his spine. Eyes as hard as steel, and as dark and empty as if looking down the barrel of a smoking gun… Not really. Honestly I’m nervous as hell, I’m sweating bullets and I think I’m going to vomit just from nerves. Calm down Donovan, you’re a man of the Cook family aren’t you? What’s the problem, what is there to afraid of? You’ve gone through police training, prison riots, and you’ve broken down doors to arrest people; what is there to worry about?
Well you’re ending a human life for one thing. Damnit, why me? Why was I assigned his job? Donovan you know why, you were chosen at random for execution duty. It seemed such an easy decision a while ago. The world was so simple, criminals are evil and had their chances, It’s not my fault if they wasted them right? It’s my job, a civic duty. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to think. He’s getting the chair so he must have done something to deserve such a thing right? Besides the electricity should blowout that circuit breaker in his head before he suffers too much right? The chair is probably quicker than the firing squad, less painful than the poison injection, less terrifying than choking out their least breath in the gas chamber. I’m doing society a favor by exterminating this scumbag, I’m doing him a favor by using this method. Yeah, that’s right. It’s for the greater good, he doesn’t deserve another chance, and besides it will be quick.
I can do this, I can do this. I hear the heavy jangle of his manacles before I see him come through the door. He’s average in everything except that he looks like a ghost with blood red eyes, he looks like he’s already dead. I quell the panic rising in my throat, It’s just an albino, calm down you can do this, I can do this. He’s sitting in the chair all strapped in. All I have to do is pull the switch and I can go home. Seconds pass like years, and nothing has changed. He looks at me with those unnatural red eyes of his and a grin pulls across his face. Why is he smiling? why why why WHY?! He’s deriding me with that stare, with that smile. How dare he mock me? Doesn’t he realize where he is? That I am going to end his life?! Hate erupts from my gut like a volcano and burns all of my sympathy and indecision to the ground. I pull the switch and let the bastard fry.
His grin is still their as his eyes go inside his skull, his pale skin sparks, its horrifying, He performs a macabre dance in his chair as volt after countless volts surges through is frame, it’s fascinating. I have to keep watching it’s compelling. Then there’s the smell, the acrid smell of burning hair mixing with a disturbingly appetizing barbecue smell. I can’t tear my eyes away, and I know I’m probably imagining it but I swear he’s looking back at me with those sightless eyes, it’s unbearable. The chair dams up its unforgiving torrent. It’s done, I can go home and sleep this nightmare away into a faded memory.
Except that he’s breathing… Oh god, he’s still alive. He’s no longer grinning just breathing, gasping raggedly. He’s slumped in his chair but still very much alive. His gaze reaches mine once again. As if asking me if that’s all I’ve got. I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I have enough hate in me left to pull the switch again and turn off his light. What do we do now Donovan Cook?