Execution Date

Chapter 1 - The now

I lift my head from my hands once more, to see the same thing I see every time I look up; darkness. Darkness, loneliness, sadness, depression. My small, claustrophobic cell read all of these traits. I sit crossed leg on my "bed"; a long, thin piece of plywood hanging off the wall, held up by two rusty chains. The wood is miss coloured by mold and water stains, and some other substance that was too dark to really make put, but i assumed it was blood from previous prisoners. The wall behind me was made of cold, sold bricks, the cracks in between filled with more mold, except for one brick, where i had tried to remove it. The wall across from me was equally cold and solid, and had small holes on the bottom where the rats i shared my cell with came and went. Even the rats had something i didn't; freedom. The walls on my left and to my right were equally empty, depressing, cold heartless. Except for the the wall to my left, where a small door was positioned, where the guards could also enter and leave freely. Where the guards could deliver my three meals of mashed peas and warm water every day. Where the guards could come in with multiple crowbars and other torture devices to beat me for hours on end. Even horrible, tortured souls like these possessed human beings had the freedom i could only dream of; if only i could dream. The small window on my rusty cell door let a pale but steady stream of light flow into my room, illumination the rats and roaches that scurried on the floor. I looke down at my knees, and she the corners of my bed being chewed on be rats and roaches. They usually crawl on me at night. I lean back against the wall, and pick at a scab on my fore arm left by one of the guards torture tools. I close my eyes, and let my memories flow over me as i usually did. They flow over me like waves, some just brushing back my hair, others drowning me completely. I let them swirl around in my brain untamed; I had tried to tame them before, but without success, and so, i let them drown me. They come and go as they please, like the rats in the dark room. They swirl around like a tornado, some coming into focus for just a second before being whisked away, others, forming a complete memory. One of these stronger memories was just coming into vision when a loud clatter of a guards rang into my ears from outside the door. One of the guards came in with a sly grin on his face, as if seeing a starved twenty year old pleased him.
"Well Thomas, it looks like you finally gonna be put out of your misery!"
The guard says this with a sickening laugh, tilting his head back and laughing so hard that his green cap fell off. The think guard bends over and picks up the sickly green piece of cloth that matched the rest of his uniform. He had a wide belt around his waist that carried a gun and crowbar. His boots were black and shiny; he had probably shined them just that morning. His pants and shirt were pressed to perfection, and were plain. He was just a new guard. The older, more experienced monsters wore ribbons and medals. His black gloves were pulled up to his elbows, and each hand was held in a fist, except for one. It held a pen and a moldy piece of paper.
The guard straightened up and fixed his cap. I sat motionless on my bed, waiting for his next move. The guard threw the piece of paper in front of me, along with the small ball point pen.
"The others insist on all the prisoners writing notes to family members or friends before the execution, so, here, you have about five hours, so be quick."
The guard let out another demonic laugh, locked the door behind him, and smiled through the small window one last time at me before walking away.
I found myself staring at the piece of paper for a long time, out of shock and out of sadness. I pick up the pen, thinking i could at least write something, but my hand starts to shake and i drop it onto the bed once again. Then, i did something I hadn't done in a long time; i cried. I sobbed and sobbed, out of misery, out of regret, and out of hopelessness. I let the memories come back and form the tornado once more, but this time, it forms a memory that sticks. I'm ten. I try to make it go away, but its like it's glued to my eyelids, a never ending movie that just keeps playing. And with this memory a horrible fact drowned me:

I had no one left to write to.