short trip

Unable to focus on my book report, I was hit by a small particle of inspiration. It turned into a short story about a guy who gets his head cut off and thinks about it.

The crowd jeered and taunted as a dejected looking fellow was marched up to a platform by an intimidating figure wearing a black mask. Towards the front of the platform was a basket. Directly behind the basket was the guillotine; the one way door to eternity that had seen the end of many lives, innocent and guilty alike. Incidentally, its next victim was, in fact, guilty. He understood perfectly well the possible consequences of his actions before he took them. This did nothing, however, to keep his mind off the fact that he was about to die a gruesome death in front of thousands of people who hated him.
The executioner slowly lowered his head to the cutting block, and locked him into place. the crowds taunts became louder and some of them began to hurl fresh produce at the condemned man. Were he not about to die, he may have appreciated the irony that these fools were throwing away the very thing that they begged for everyday. The executioner stepped back, pulled a lever, and with a sickening thud, the man's head dropped into the basket.
'Strange,' thought the man, 'That wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Hardly felt a thing. A quick snap and it's off with my head. Or is it off with my body, I wonder? I'm sure that the rest of me must be more confused than I am, not knowing what my brain wants it to do, and all. And yet, without my body, I can't very well get anything done, myself. Which part is missing which? Perhaps--'
At that point, the oxygen in his brain expired, rendering him incapable of thought, incoherent or otherwise.