Freedom 12/5/13 11:14pm
Dearest Sister,
I am writing to you from the confines of my own prison cell, the walls are already adorned with the tallies of 8 months past. I am not sure how I have made it this far, nor if I can continue. I am writing you at this moment to recount the experiences that have befallen me in this barred space. The tragedies that have scarred my very existence, and threaten the sanctity of my morality. Even through all I have experienced, I have not given up. Perhaps the thought of seeing mother and you again is the drive I cannot feel. Perhaps it is the arms of my lover long stored in the banks of my consciousness that drives me, or maybe it is but the sweet lure of death that keeps my sanity. The only certainty I can feel is the presence outside my cell, through the small hole just out of reach that echoes the cheerful singing of birds and the rustling of trees.
I am truly sorry that I have subjected myself and my family to this long correctional procedure. When I had held the weapon in my hand I hadn’t grasped the power I wielded, I only understood the implications. Only now do I realize what I have done, the pain I have caused, the people I did not save in contrast to those I did. If I could relive that thirty minutes one more time it would be different, I would be home again with all of you, with my wife, with my children, and with mother in her time of need.
Forgive me my dear sister, I did not mean to leave action station to pee.
Real talk though, I don’t want to do nothing anymore.