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Imagine that you are a prisoner on death row, condemned to die. You have committed a crime and the date of your final day is getting closer.
Write as if you are the character
I feel trapped, Guilty. If I could only turn back time, I wouldn’t be here in the first place with all this regret on my mind. I won’t be here much longer now anyhow, death row. What an expression. Those two words haunt my nightmares while sending shivers down my spine.
And now I’m all alone in this cell all murky and clammy. The smell of mouldy piss wafts through the prison like an unnecessary visitor. I have no visitors, not even family. Then again, I don’t blame them for what I did. My only company is my four mustard pale walls and the irregular fat rat that lurks in the darkness munching away laughing at the pathetic individual that lies soundless, me.
That little bastard eats everything I have left of the love of my life, my pictures and her teddies, the lot.
The sound of the mouldy tap water drills a hole in my head each and every night. I feel like an old toy tossed away by people who used to love me, now waiting for my life to end, to rot away. It’s like I’m being stalked by death. I feel like he is getting ready to strike me at any moment. Wiped off like a dusty mantelpiece.
That night plays on my mind over and over yet again. It’s not like I meant to do it either. I’m not part of a mob. I’m not a hardcore criminal that each person cowers from. I get eaten alive in this hell. I’m a wimp searching for awareness, but no one gives it to me.
I cry myself to sleep wishing that I will wake up in bed next to the woman I worshiped. Of course that never happens. Why? Because I killed her.
That’s right, I killed my sweetheart. On 31st October, exactly a year ago today.
I came home drunk in my mother’s car. She was taking her little brother trick or treating. I didn’t see her walking across the street. My heart skipped numerous beats as I came to and realised my crime. My mind filled with terror as I stumbled to the floor beside her. Just a body in a heap. Unresponsive. Blood pouring out of her mouth. “What have I done?” I garbled to myself. I got back in my mothers car and called an ambulance. I rapidly sobered up and came to my senses. I needed to go to the hospital with her. I needed to find out if I murdered the love of my life. I later found to my horror that my nightmare was coming true as the doctor dawdled towards me with a horrified look on his face.
Tears flowing down my face, I panicked. I ran home and collapsed on our bed staring at her pyjamas on the other side, folded up neatly, as I broke down once again. With my vision turning slowly burry, I closed my eyes as I heard a violent thump at the front door. Panic rushed through my body as I answered. A hot sweat suddenly took over my body. As I slowly peered round the door, I saw, to my horror, the police. My heart sank as I gave up and I admitted to everything. What I didn’t know is that I killed several little children on my journey home. That made me feel ten times worse. I actually murdered little kids, like cows to the slaughter. I nearly shot myself. The words death and row circled my mind all the way to the station until someone finally came to the conclusion that I was to be put to death. Countless terrible feelings raced through me like a rampage of bulls. Still to this day I relive that night over and over again.
And so I was tossed into this disgusting cell to rot away. The worst thing I, I was arranging a proposal for last Christmas.
My family are still mortified and too humiliated to call me their own. They certainly never visit. Her parents would exterminate me if they got a possibility.
I am so isolated here in my own little cell. It’s so cold and lonesome. I have nothing left in my life. I might as well die here and now. I would give anything to begin my life again somewhere else like America or Australia. Start a new life for myself with a job and friends and my own freedom. That would be great. With my woman back with me alive as well. I would kill for that chance. I am so terrified of dying. I don’t want to die, ever. I thought that people were approved a second opportunity. But then again, those children that I murdered didn’t get a second chance at life so why should I? I destroyed their life. I ended their life! No one has the right to do such a thing. I feel like an ant in a jam jar with no escape and fear rushing through me.
I have no chance of surviving this dreadful experience. If only I didn’t go out drinking. I would not be here and may be married with the woman I still love so very much. That thought of destroying so many lives. Not only the children that I killed, but all their friends and families that must despise me. Even if I was released from this prison, I would never last out in the human race of today now that everyone knows about the crime I committed. I would be afraid to leave my home and I still would not have any family or friends. So it would turn into some sort of prison anyway. At least it may be a tiny bit better than this hellhole. I despise my life. It is ruined and I am only twenty.
The days sneak closer and closer to the end of my life. I feel like I am being forced, gradually but surely, off the edge of a cliff. I feel petrified of the future. (Or at least what’s left of it)
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