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https://actionnetwork.org/petitions/james-m-dailey-is-innocent-stop-the-execution James Dailey is an innocent man on death row. Please do what you can to save his life. #JamesDailey #SaveJamesDailey
Sign this PETITION on Action Network telling Florida Gov Ron DeSantis to: (1) Don't set a new execution date; (2) Test ALL the evidence; (3)
JAMES DAILEY
James M Dailey is from Hesperia California. He graduated from California State University of San Bernardino in 2021 and obtained his bachelor’s degree in Studio Art in Photography. His work includes themes of water as a resource, along with space being a diminishing commodity. The work involves using historical archives along with personal photographs as a means to reflect and document the…
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The Florida Supreme Court on Tuesday unanimously rejected an appeal seeking to prevent the execution of Death Row inmate James Dailey in the
TALLAHASSEE — More than 34 years after the nude body of a 14-year-old girl was found in Pinellas County, Gov. Ron DeSantis on Wednesday sign
Decided I'd give a snippet of my book. Reblog with your comments!
I wake up, not sure of anything. Everything before the moment I woke up, and that wild dream, gone. Like I was born in these clothes, in this enormous desert, and left, abandoned, without any clues as to who gave birth to me. ‘Was it possible to be born as a full grown man?’ I asked myself as I looked around.
I feel something tugging at my shoulders, almost like the wind. I look behind me, and to my astonishment, I see a parachute, attached to me by its cords. I unfasten the parachute, and pull it back to me, folding it as neatly as possible, knowing that the nights in a desert are far colder than the days.
I feel all about me, looking in my pockets, trying desperately to find some shred of my past. Perhaps? Yes, a wallet, stuck into my back pocket. I open it, and realize that not only do I now know who I am, but also that I am married. ‘Hopefully someone…’ I think to myself, looking through photographs stuck into my wallet. ‘Ah, yes, she is beautiful.’
“Wow,” I say to myself as I look through the numerous pictures of a woman that appears to be my wife.
“Hmm. Jacob Ames,” I say aloud as I read my driver’s license. ‘Do I even know how to drive? Can’t be too hard, I guess.’
I look around, hoping to find a trace of this beautiful woman that is apparently my wife. My search ends abruptly, as I find that another parachute is discarded, barely in my view over another dune, left to the wind to decide its fate.
I stand up, feeling a little dizzy, and climb over the massive dune between me and who I hope is my wife, where the parachute was released.
“Are you,” I begin, looking into my wallet for a possible name, “my wife?”
She looks me dead in the eye, and says, “I dunno. Do I look like your wife?”
“Well, actually,” I say, stumbling my words, “I believe so. I mean, I have a wedding ring, and the only pictures I have in my wallet are of you and I together, so…I assume that you’re my wife.
“Do you have any pictures of me?” I ask her, again hoping that she is. Even in this hopeless state, she is shockingly beautiful.
She feels around in her jeans, finally pulling out a wallet similar to mine.
“T’Ana Mareé Ames,” she says confused. “That’s what my license says. What’s your last name?” She asks, almost to herself.
“My last name is Ames.”
She holds up a picture, and closes one eye, comparing the man in the picture to the man in front of her.
“That’s interesting,” she says.
“What is?”
“You’re more handsome in person. But judging from this, I have the same wedding ring as in the picture, and you have the same eyes as this man in the picture, so I guess you are my husband. Crying shame though.”
“Why is it a crying shame?”
“I don’t believe I’ve met your mother, or that you’ve met mine. Do we even know each other? Let alone where we came from?”
“Well, I guess we know each other well enough to be married, right?”
“I guess so,” she says, playing with the diamond ring on her left ring finger.
“Well, I think we should do something. We can’t last long in this desert.”
“I agree.”
We set off, walking with the setting sun to our left, hopefully going north.
“Hey,” T’Ana says unexpectedly, “What’s your name, Mr. Ames?” I fiddle around to get my wallet out again. Finally pulling out my license, I walk closer to her so that she can see too. “It’s Jacob Colin Ames.”
I smile satisfied, “You can call me Jake.”
“Oh really,” T’Ana says mockingly, “Where did that come from? ‘My name is Jacob Colin Ames, but you can call me Jake.’”
“Well, we are married, so we may as well have shorter names for each other.”
“Hmm…I gotcha,” she says, “Oh! I know! How about I call you, ass?”
I smile and laugh, “Ass, eh?”
“Yeah, short for asshole.”
“Asshole? You don’t even know me.”
“We’re married aren’t we? I think that alone says I know you enough to call you an asshole.”
“Touché,” I say, admitting defeat.
“So,” I begin, revenge on my lips, “since you can call me asshole, seeing that we’re married and you know me enough to call me that; I’m going to call you ‘bitch’.”
She laughs and stops, looking at me.
“I don’t think so, Jake.”
“Oh yeah, why not?”
“That would prove that you’re an ass, asshole.”
She starts walking again, a slightly amused look on her face, but trying hard to hide it.
I stand there, looking confused. Catching up to her, I say, “Well, that’s not exactly fair.”
She stops; her amusement on display now.
“News flash, Jake; LIFE isn’t fair. Just look at the situation we’re in.”
“That may be true, but does that give you the right to be a bitch to me?”
“Not entirely. But calling me a bitch automatically gives me the right to be one, but, you cannot call me one just because I am.”
Again, I stop, looking at her in confusion.
“That doesn’t seem fair at all,” I say, restating my defense.
T’Ana comes up to me, inches from my face, her breath remarkably fresh.
“Duh,” she says, snapping her fingers next to my ear as she mutters the word.
