What will she do?
I ask myself the same question every day in this holding cell where I’m locked up. Will she meet with me first like I requested, so I can tell her what happened that day? Yeah, I know… she heard it in the courtroom, but did she? I mean, every time I looked back at her, it was like she wasn’t even there. I don’t blame her. I felt the same way. I felt the same loss.
These walls are closing in on me. I’m suffocating. The guards mess with me, telling me I’ll be new meat in the penitentiary. The younger the better and at 16 under the new laws, I’m an adult. They have a running pool, placing bets on my fate. Most agree I’ll go to prison because women don’t have the guts to choose execution. That makes them laugh. When I ask why, they laugh more, saying they wish they could be there when I step into the prison cell block for the first time and see the look on my face… see the anticipation on the faces of the hordes of inmates. They tell me I won’t survive I week. I’ll find a way to commit suicide. They’re right. I won’t be able to live in prison. I’d rather die.
Die. Would I really rather die? I don’t think so. At least in prison, I’d be breathing; at least there’d be hope. Will she choose to take my breath from me? Will she choose to cut off my air and watch my life fade before her eyes? She has that right. After all, that’s what they said I did to her daughter - to my best friend. But I didn’t. It wasn’t me!
Yeah right, whatever. Everyone in here is innocent… if you ask them. Nobody is guilty. I guess that’s one way to get through each day. But some don’t even make it out of here. I hear them at night, beating their heads against the cement walls until I hear them drop to the floor unconscious. Nobody checks on them. The guards seem to know which ones will crack. They leave them alone. After a couple days, then they check on them. When they do, they’re met by an enraged lunatic, an inmate whose time of sanity has departed. The guards are ready for the attack. They’re waiting. When it comes, the inmate is executed on the spot, their time of incarceration terminated. It keeps the headcount manageable. It makes room for others.
Seven by seven – it’s been my home for a month now. There’s room to stand, use the sink… the toilet... I can sit or lie down on the cold metal bed that looks like an autopsy table. When I tire of sitting, I run in place. It’s frustrating because I never get anywhere. I wish there was a TV. I’d settle for a book… any book. I’d really like some company. My parents came once. That was right after they brought me here. My dad told me I was a man now; I had what’s coming. My mom never said a word. She couldn’t even look at me.
There’s nothing to do except go crazy. The one small window up near the ceiling is the only means of knowing if it’s day or night. The only real access to the outside world is through the slot at the bottom of the door where they slide the meal tray through… a meal that is nothing but mush. Still, it’s enough to keep an inmate alive. It’s enough to keep those who don’t crack, longing for one breath of fresh air – air that’s not filled with the stench of sweat, blood and death.
Will I live long enough for Mrs. G to decide my fate, or will I go insane before she chooses? Why do they give them so much time to decide? I hope the guards are right. I hope she chooses prison because I don’t want to die. I want to live. I have to live!
I have to live long enough to find out who really killed Katie.
YOU ARE READING
False Conviction
Teen FictionSociety… It had become so corrupt that change was needed. The government made small changes at first with the promised legislature that larger ones would follow. They did. Now things are worse.
