[ WP ] A roller coaster ride unlike any other .

Inspired by [ this ] ( http: //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Euthanasia_Coaster ). 
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 I remember riding my first roller coaster. I was with Dad, as I am in many of my happiest childhood memories. We waited in line under the hot sun of August for hours, snaking around the gates of the ride with the other theme park visitors like cattle. The coaster had looked intimidating from the park entrance, but up close it looked massive. My twelve-year-old mind could n't comprehend how anybody could ride such a death-trap for fun, but Dad told me that I would enjoy it, and Dad could never be wrong. 
 I had always been an impatient child, but as we approached the track to board the coaster I pleaded silently for the line to take longer and delay my terror. It was to no avail, and soon I was climbing into the cramped little cart with Dad right behind me. My heart was pounding out of my chest by now and I fought back to urge to embarrass myself and cry while looking up at the track ahead of us. It seemed to lead straight into the sky. 
 The park attendant came around and tugged on the tiny bar that I had put all my faith into. The coaster seemed to defy the laws of gravity and I was n't sure how a tiny piece of metal was going to stop me from plummeting to the ground in the middle of the upside down loop. I looked up at Dad, my eyes wide with terror. He offered me his hand to hold and that was more reassurance than any bar over my lap. 
 As we clicked up the track, I counted the spots in the old cart where the paint had chipped away, trying to keep my mind on anything other than the giant hill. I noticed the sun beginning to set over the parking lot when-ohGodohGodohGod, my stomach fell out of my chest and my eyes were pulled back by the wind and my whole body slammed against the back of the cart and my hand squeezed Dad's as hard as it could and just when I could n't breathe we reached the bottom of the last hill and slowed to pull back into the loading station. `` Well,'' Dad smiled down at me, `` what did you think?'' 
 Shaking, I smiled over at him. `` That was awesome! Can we go again?'' This time, my plea was answered. Dad and I spent the rest of the evening lining up for the thrill ride and riding the coaster once in every different cart from the very front to the very back. 
 
 
 That was thirty years ago. I'm not yet an old woman by any means, but nevertheless, my time has come. I used to have as much faith in our justice system as I did in the Gospel of my Dad, but over the years I learned that both have their faults. Today I stand in line for another roller coaster ride, my last. The state penitentiary bus shuttled me here with the twenty-three others and we were told to line up in the cattle gates just like any innocent citizen visiting a theme park. I had grown to be an avid roller coaster enthusiast, but today, as the guards searched each of us one last time at the gate, my heart was pounding as hard as it was when I was twelve years old. The guards herded us onto the loading platform and, like I always did, I looked up at the first hill leading to the sky. I remember how scared I had been of that hill my first time on a coaster, but I had learned to love the anticipation. Today, looking at the sky in the horizon gave me hope. 
 I stepped into the cart assigned to me, number 14, but this time no one was behind me. Quickly, before I could be given a chance to escape, a guard came to secure the metal bar. I knew that the bar would n't save me this time. This time, the bar was there to make sure I could n't exit the ride alive. 
 It was obvious that the usual pre-ride safety speech was pointless for this motley crew, so I was slightly surprised when the microphone clicked on. After the static hissed away, I realized that it was a priest, giving not a speech but a collective Last Rites. As if any of us still believed in that anyway. The impatience from my childhood was one of the few traits that had still remained with me into my adult life, and I silently pleaded for the guards to just get on with the show. I took one last glance at the cart before pulling out of the station, hoping for the trademark paint chips. I found none; I had forgotten how important appearances were at an execution. 
 The train clicked up the hill, slowly, building the anticipation for all of the TV crews filming our ride for the nice folks at home.Fighting back tears, I looked around frantically for something, anything, to keep my mind off of the ride ahead. I looked down, contemplating saying a prayer after all ( if this was really it, then what could it hurt? ) when I saw a familiar hand reach out to me. I took his hand and looked up at Dad, sitting beside me, reassuring me in my last moments.
