Years in the prisoners eyes

The Years in a Prisoner Eyes
By: Patrick Weis

5, 10, 11, 12, 16 those so tiny numbers turn in my mind from simple 5th grade math problems to second, minutes, hours, to days, to years. Time has flown by to fast for my taste, in an 8 by 10 cell for a crime I know I committed. For what you ask? Well something I do regret, I think.

I remember, my mind went black and my body grew cold as I beat him. It all seemed like nothing, all I could feel was the numbness in my feet and the joy of every whack. I couldn’t stop until my pleasure turned to dust as four uniformed officers pulled me off of his dead corpse.

My jail time will only be a few months shorter and I wonder if the injection is painful, for I shall soon find out. There’s not much to say to the family’s child you killed or to the family that cares about you I mean what does it matter when your six feet under and rotting away.

I truly wish I could find someway to express my sorrow and agony but I really don’t find that possible to put so much feeling in something like Mozart on the piano. I doubt I could be that abstract in my thinking mind, my bleeding heart can’t take it any longer. I am going mad with the guilt of the killing.

Three months later, my cell door opens as the guards escort me out as if someone might care. As I went down my own “Red Carpet” I passed the cells to people trying not to notice me. For what was about to happen to me was sure as hell going to happen to them soon enough. I could still feel them peer at me; I could since the fear pouring off of them.

They slipped me into the smooth blue chair and strapped me in tightly. I shall never know if the person’s family I killed will ever find it in them to forgive me but it really doesn’t seem to matter as much as it had three months ago.

The doctor came up to me “ May god forgive you” as he quickly ran the full needle into my arm. I slipped into a Simi-coma and then all my thoughts and emotions faded away into a black pit.

Then total silence.