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Rated: E · Fiction · Emotional · #2102678
An opener letter from a prisoner to the people
TOUCH ME PLEASE
I am prisoner. I committed a crime and I am gladly paying for it. The crowd was angry with me for tormenting them and making them spend less time sleeping and more time setting a trap for me and my ‘colleagues’. Like all other criminals, I was not born a thief. Life and my immaturity made me one. I regret every minute of this ‘career’. I went to the city in search of a job. A friend welcomed me and made me aware of all the areas where I could get a job as a casual laborer. The second day of my stay in the city was a good day for me. I got a job in an industry that deal with detergents. I was to be paid one dollar per day for a period of eight months after which the employer would consider me for permanent employment depending on my performance.

My smile filled my entire face as I signed the contract. I vowed to myself to work harder than a donkey such that my employer would not imagine life without me. I worked tirelessly, confident that I would get the permanent employment I longed for very much. I couldn’t imagine going back to the village looking forlorn and miserable, the kind of face that is a caricature of hopelessness and desperation. Little did I know that all one needed in the city was to work smart and not working hard.

Someone who was not even a casual laborer in the industry was employed. I went home that morning thinking hard. I evaluated my service to my employer trying to figure out why they didn’t give me the job. I ended up with more questions than answers. When I broke the sad news to my host, he looked at blankly then after a while gave me a lecture on how I should never bother doing the right thing in the city.

He narrated similar woes and the numerous times he had to bribe in order to get what was rightfully his. That is when I decided to follow suit albeit to get some food to silence the rumbling in my stomach. I ignored the constant warnings from my inner being. I picked pockets and snatched handbags as often as I could. I landed into the hands of the police severally and managed to find a way out after greasing someone’s palms. That was until one day I snatched a handbag from a woman who wasn’t willing to let me go scot free. It was dark. She was leaving a supermarket with some groceries and some other items. She wore some gold-coated necklaces and bungles and an expensive watch. Her elegant pulse caught my eyes just as her cool looking smart phone made my heart leap. I was watching her from the corner of the street. Then I calculated my move just as she was getting ready to cross the street. I pretended to be closing and hit her by the shoulder so hard that she fell down. Then I made for her pulse as she screamed.

She struggled with me and reached for a knife she had bought from amongst the groceries. She pointed it at me as she called me names. I managed to grab the knife and stab her ribcage so hard that she breathed her last almost immediately. I was so engrossed in getting the pulse and the phone from her hand that I hadn’t noticed the crowd that surrounded me. They were determined to put my body and soul asunder. Kicks and brows chorused in my ears. Insults became somewhat musical, like it was a choir. For the first time in my life, I hated myself and I longed for death. I lay still, silently bidding my breath farewell. Blood covered my entire body. Every part of my body ached. Every movement was extremely painful. I heard their steps retreat and welcome heavy steps. I knew those were the police. They took me to hospital under tight security. Beside me lay the body of the dead woman. I was declared a murderer.

That is how I landed into prison serving a life sentence. I am condemned and banished from my own people. I am an outcast. I know I should be in the company of careless doctors, businessmen and women, policemen and women, lawyers and politicians, people who kill to protect their selfish interests. But my mates are haggard looking men, those who joined criminal gangs out of hunger, desperation and hopelessness. I am not vindicating myself at all. I am guilty as charged. But I am still human. Please treat me as one. Visit me in prison. Please touch me, touch me tenderly my fellow human being. All of us make mistakes but only a few pay for their mistakes. I am paying for mine. But please touch me softly, shake my hand, speak to me and with me, listen to me, crack jokes with me and for me, I am only human. I regret killing a fellow human being. My heart aches with remorse. Please touch me. I shall not kill you and neither shall I ever kill. Touch me please. I am human.



© Copyright 2016 Ruth Kaguu (ruthkaguu at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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