The World Screwed Me Again
Short story, some explicit things. Feel free to comment
The World Screwed Me Again.
I awoke in the same place I had woken up the past twelve years. My friend in the next "room" snores through the morning. I feel no need in leaving my iron hard bed because doing so would only open me up to look around at the desolate life I live. Too many days I spent within these four walls and wondered what was happening outside. Sometimes I rationalize it as I am being held here so that I wouldn't hurt anymore people, but I never look at the guard and think of ways to slit his throat and not alert anyone. So am I still a menace to society? Are these steel bars still harbouring the "BrinkTown Killer" or has he left and in his place, me, no want to kill or rape or any of those things the newspaper said I did. Somedays I question my inocence. Sure when the judge asked my to put in a plea I said "Not Guilty" with the honest and earnest face that my lawyer had told me to put on. I didn't understand because then I actually thought I was "not guilty." Now? I am not sure. As the trial progressed my court appointed lawyer did not contest any of the stern faced juries that walked through the courthouse door carrying a newspaper with the headline, "Police Capture the Vicious Brinktown Killer." At the time I thought nothing of it since I myself had read many of the same articles blaming random people for sick and twisted crimes. But as the witnesses came and went I noticed there was no evidence against me. I slept fine those nights. I actually thought the system worked and that I would be free as soon as they asked the jury to deliberate. However, the people in the jury never stopped giving me those dirty looks. Then it finally hit me I was not being tried in this courthouse I was being convicted at these people's houses. Everymorning seemingly normal people were being fed perverted horror stories of what I did to those women, in the Brinktown Press, the Mississippi Print, even CNN had decided I was surely the culprit. I couldn't beleive what was going on. I still don't beleive what happened. Twelve years I have thought about that day when the jury returned to the courtroom, and the judge asked the forelady to repeat the verdict. My "jury of peers" had failed me, the system, the country, everyman alive failed me. Some guy was running around killing people from what I learned from the danged news; a sick fellow. He is out there and I am in here, that is just the way it is always going to be. I sat there and stared off past the bars that protected me from exiting this hell hole and killing more people. I took a nearby pen and paper and scribbled down a few thoughts. Things I had been meaing to tell people: How I always loved my wife, How I will always be watching my children forever, Told the media to go to fudgeing hell. Satisfied with everything I had wrote I added one last sentence. I took my sheet I had been sleeping on for twelve years, tied a loop in one end and tied the other to those god danged bars. I stood on the bed that an hour ago I had been dreaming on and slid my head into the loop.---They will find my body in an hour probably and make no hurry to cut me down, why should they? I killed all those people didn't I? I deserved whatever hell had to offer didn't I? Didn't I?
The World Screwed Me Again.
I awoke in the same place I had woken up the past twelve years. My friend in the next "room" snores through the morning. I feel no need in leaving my iron hard bed because doing so would only open me up to look around at the desolate life I live. Too many days I spent within these four walls and wondered what was happening outside. Sometimes I rationalize it as I am being held here so that I wouldn't hurt anymore people, but I never look at the guard and think of ways to slit his throat and not alert anyone. So am I still a menace to society? Are these steel bars still harbouring the "BrinkTown Killer" or has he left and in his place, me, no want to kill or rape or any of those things the newspaper said I did. Somedays I question my inocence. Sure when the judge asked my to put in a plea I said "Not Guilty" with the honest and earnest face that my lawyer had told me to put on. I didn't understand because then I actually thought I was "not guilty." Now? I am not sure. As the trial progressed my court appointed lawyer did not contest any of the stern faced juries that walked through the courthouse door carrying a newspaper with the headline, "Police Capture the Vicious Brinktown Killer." At the time I thought nothing of it since I myself had read many of the same articles blaming random people for sick and twisted crimes. But as the witnesses came and went I noticed there was no evidence against me. I slept fine those nights. I actually thought the system worked and that I would be free as soon as they asked the jury to deliberate. However, the people in the jury never stopped giving me those dirty looks. Then it finally hit me I was not being tried in this courthouse I was being convicted at these people's houses. Everymorning seemingly normal people were being fed perverted horror stories of what I did to those women, in the Brinktown Press, the Mississippi Print, even CNN had decided I was surely the culprit. I couldn't beleive what was going on. I still don't beleive what happened. Twelve years I have thought about that day when the jury returned to the courtroom, and the judge asked the forelady to repeat the verdict. My "jury of peers" had failed me, the system, the country, everyman alive failed me. Some guy was running around killing people from what I learned from the danged news; a sick fellow. He is out there and I am in here, that is just the way it is always going to be. I sat there and stared off past the bars that protected me from exiting this hell hole and killing more people. I took a nearby pen and paper and scribbled down a few thoughts. Things I had been meaing to tell people: How I always loved my wife, How I will always be watching my children forever, Told the media to go to fudgeing hell. Satisfied with everything I had wrote I added one last sentence. I took my sheet I had been sleeping on for twelve years, tied a loop in one end and tied the other to those god danged bars. I stood on the bed that an hour ago I had been dreaming on and slid my head into the loop.---They will find my body in an hour probably and make no hurry to cut me down, why should they? I killed all those people didn't I? I deserved whatever hell had to offer didn't I? Didn't I?
