8/12/93

This wrinkled pillow is all I have. In

this confinement, nothing else is mine. I spend the day, following a

routine; Wake up, go to breakfast, work out in the yard, shower, free

time, and then back to my cell. Of all the things here, nothing is my

own. I have no photos. No family outside of these walls. I've been on my

own for a while, traveling, seeing the world. I had traveled abroad,

and finally made it to almost every country. I had seen it all. The

Eiffel Tower, The Forbidden City, The Great Wall of China, Sydney Opera

House. You name it, and I've most likely been there and could tell you

about it. I had just come back to the States after this worldwide

adventure of mine. Let's just say I was in the wrong place, at the wrong

time. I was in Detroit, and I was going to go to all the museums in the

city and admire all the art. I walked into a nearby gas station and was

searching for a bag of Barbeque Lays. Before going into anymore detail,

let me just state on a side note that Detroit is a bit... crime-filled.

So I was grabbing a bag of chips on the shelf, when the man in the mask

came in. He had a gun and barged in, robbing the store. I had my own

gun on me, as I travel alone, and I started crawling towards him, trying

to attract little attention. I had gotten close enough, shooting

distance, and I pulled the trigger. The man was taken by surprise, and

his now wounded body fell to the floor with a soft thud. I had never

killed anyone in my life, until that day. The cashier was in shock,

crying her eyes out. She looked to be about eighteen years old, probably

new to this job, and she was hysterical. When the police arrived, she

tried to explain what happened between her sobs. They seem to have

gotten the story wrong though. There were no cameras in this gas station

mart, and the cashier was the only other witness. Next thing I know,

I'm in court, claimed to be guilty, and thrown into prison. I always

remember that day, reflecting upon the details of it, everyday.

Sometimes I think that cashier might have had it out for me or

something, or was possibly an accomplice. Maybe she was a daughter of a

mob leader, who knows? All I know is that longer I am in here, the more I

think of how she framed me and how she could have been apart of the

whole robbery scheme. I don't know maybe I'm crazy.

Wait. What's that? The guard just said

someone's here to see me. As I peer out my open cell door, I see her at

the end of the hall. Her young face, slowly coming closer and into my

line of sight. She looks different; older, lustful, and evil. The face

comes into the light, and I can clearly see her now. It is her. The cashier.

-Charles