Haunted by The Past

Repercussion Came

Freedom's the most expensive among the other human's possessions. I know you won't amply understand this until you come to experience a bit of my ordeal as an inmate.

Even before seeing the four walls of a courtroom and a prison, I'd been very evil, dangerous and callous. Nothing had been compared to be as wasteful as my own life. My dad had passed away when I was nine, and I'd continuously spent the other years only with my mother who was a prayerful and a devoted Catholic. Earlier then I was happy, simple, and a smart boy who cared about his very runty home, meals, and my lovely mother, who never failed to take me to morning and Sunday masses any day.

As I was turning into a teenager, things became very hard-bitten for my mum, and that was the very point I decided to take an antithetical part of my life. At first I began by incessantly stealing from my classmates, my teachers and the other people in my school who got in contact with me, and taking the stolen items to support myself and my mother - at her back. At sixteen, I had my first smoke, then followed by forming gangs, gambling and shamming people in order to get money. My life became more messy when I dropped out of school and simultaneously got involved with some sort of guns and hard drugs. I was becoming a full-time hooligan. The first time I got the experience of killing my fellow human being with a gun, my heart was so fallible, but at time went by, I became very thirsty for more blood - like the devil. My rough life eventually upgraded to the point of getting attached to a very wealthy but ruthless politician, for business. The business was to abduct kids and bring them to him, which I think were used for money rituals. I earned a lot of money from this, which I was getting nastily rich, but only in a closed-door manner.

Before this, my mum had gone so damn worried about my crooked life; although, I possibly had tried to keep her out of the whole view. The infinite warnings from people about me made her to hit me more with full-nights advice, mother-and-child talks, several counselings, and even number of deliverance from different priests. But I saw all these as being thoroughly disturbed. However, like every other mother would do, my mother still worked very hard to see I turned better and a changed person, but I had already become recalcitrant to no preaching. She cried and prayed all the nights, and some time, got sick, but she was never tired of my rattlepated mannerisms. What got me most crazy of her that she neither accepted nor allowed the stuff I brought in home from my illicit doings. Consistently, I decided to run farther from her and our home, because I thought it'd give me a perfect chance to do my business my own way.

However, not so long was when I got a taste of my own medicine, and my iniquities all over the years came to an upshot - even the Bible talks about the sins of people getting off of them unpunished. On a gloomy cold night, which seemed to be glorious at the initial time, was when I met my end-life misfortune. The night I wish I'd been same dead like Josh, who was a long time accomplish in the act. During a house robbery with Josh in one of the toppest pastors in the state, we were caught. Things could've been different if at least we didn't fire numbers of bullets at the Man of God and his wife. Our plan was to spare them both, but after a scene we felt that we might've been identified, we had no choice than to waste these people. But to our greatest, dismay, the police came through, and began a chase. Josh was shot dead. I was shot too - thrice, two shots at the back and one at back of my thigh - but my spirit didn't leave my body - I wish it did. I was apprehended, but first taken to a Federal Hospital in the state, where at first I spent over 6 weeks in a coma. I underwent so many surgeries in oder to be revived, and luck was still with me; I didn't meet my death. During the time I was still in coma, while I was still lying almost lifeless in the sickbed, some important person came visiting, according to the doctor heading my medical case. And it was my mother. She came at the second week I had been admitted, and left behind a New Jerusalem Bible, including photo of me when I was eight, a year before my father left, inside Psalm 51. My mother died a couple weeks after her visit - coronary failure. She couldn't bare the pain no more. Recurring how and what I personally made her went through is always the saddest part of my life.

My notoriety was fierce; the state government was the one allowed to handle all the medical bills. However, all my properties were discovered and usurped, and I was finally handed over to the judiciary, where I've been currently serving a life sentence. This is my 29th year as an inmate, and I've been here smitten with a fractured spine, an amputed leg, and stuck in this armchair, wishing for dear death to come.

Fortunately I've been re-accepted to the catholic faith here in the prison; been to series of confessions, and have been able to accept God's words completely. I always carry my mother's gift (bible) anywhere, and  before going to bed, I read the passage where my photo is being placed. Seems like I'm making peace with God; but I wish my mother was here to witness all these happening right now, at least she should know that I later became a changed person. But until I pay with my last breath, my past will always keep haunting me.