Steven’s bittersweet nostalgia was officiously interrupted as the warden stood at his cell entrance. “Come on now, it’s time.” Steven had immense butterflies in his stomach on his journey to the parole office. As he was passing the other inmates’ cells they were hurling slurring remarks at him from all directions, expectedly. “You’ll never get out, wife killer!” was just one of the many vilifying insults that came his way. What happened in there could make or break him for the last time. Although somehow, he had an inclination, a proclivity of sorts that told him this was his day.
He stepped into the parole office. Two men were sitting either side of a woman along a row of tables before him. They offered him a seat. They then asked him whether he felt he was a changed man, whether he felt remorse for his most heinous of crimes, and whether he felt he was ready to be let back into society…
Steven told them his wife was the only woman he had ever loved. He told them about the reminiscent recollection he had experienced that morning. He told them he wanted to start a new life. He told them that he was a completely different man to the one they put away twenty years ago. But the question remained, and so the lone woman repeated it. “Steven Smith, at the age of fifty-two, after serving twenty years of a life sentence, do you feel remorse for the murder of your wife?”
“Yes,” Steven replied.
That false admission saw a sharp pain fly through Steven’s heart. Like a jagged knife had been forced through it, and then rotated to create a wound incapable of closing. The woman stared him straight in the eyes for a few seconds, and then stamped his parole form. Steven caught a hasty glimpse as the woman rose from her seat. It read ‘approved’ in bright green ink! She handed it to the warden who told Steven to stand and leave the room. Steven sat there, incredulous for a moment or two, for it hadn’t quite set in. He was a free man! He strolled back to his cell with a swagger. The taunting remarks seemed inaudible. Steven was on cloud nine as he packed his only provided suitcase with the tarnished possessions he had. A single prison guard walked him to the front entrance of the prison and opened the gate. Steven stepped outside the gate and fell to the ground in elation. He had been gifted a second chance at life.
Before his spell in prison, Steven was a biology teacher at a school in Doncaster. He attained a 2:1 degree at Oxford University and considered himself an intelligent man. Ever since he was a child, botany had interested him. He loved teaching too, he just enjoyed sharing his knowledge with people. Sometimes he even came across as slightly pretentious. But at this moment, he became conscious of the fact that teaching was entirely out of the question. In fact, his career was ruined. Who on earth would employ a convicted murderer? Moreover, the world had changed considerably since his previous teaching spell. He found a phone box and tried to call up some old friends. But evidently, they’d all changed their numbers, and he had no idea where any of them may be. Walking down the street, he observed that the kids of today had no respect. He came across a gang of youths on his way to his temporary accommodation, inadvertently bumping into one of them. He was barraged with a torrent of abuse. Attempting to walk away rapidly, he felt a deep pain in his back, one of the youths had thumped him right between the shoulder blades. Then the others joined in. Steven wasn’t a strong man, his build was somewhat scrawny, and his age hindered his ability to defend himself. He was savagely beaten to the ground and left battered and bruised.
Eventually he mustered the will to get up and stagger ‘home’. From the moment he walked in the door, he felt nauseated. The smell reminded him of his science class at school, it was hydrogen sulphide. He’d recognize it anywhere. Next thing he knew, a rat was staring at him from the other side of the room. He threw a shoe at it and it retreated to a large aperture in the ground. The floorboards had rotted away.
As Steven lay alone in his cold, damp bed, he felt desolate. Suddenly those 4 dark walls in his cell seemed so much more appealing; he felt they were taunting him, and laughing at him just like his former cellmates. He thought to himself, “Have I been institutionalized?” Whether he had or he hadn’t, he didn’t like the new world one bit.
Steven laid there for an hour or two, well aware of the fact he had no chance of obtaining any sleep. He turned over to look at the rusty wall clock, and saw it was only 10pm. He rose from his bed. The pain from those fists was really kicking in now. He grabbed his coat and his wallet and left the flat.
He wandered into the town centre and into a local pub. A few glasses of whiskey later and he felt even more dejected. Funnily enough, there was a man at the bar selling knocked-off sports equipment. Steven saw that the man was becoming increasingly frustrated with the barmaid as she expressed her disinterest. So he approached the man and asked if he had a baseball bat of some sort going… The man turned and responded “Why of course, mate!” He walked out to his van and came back in with it. “Five pounds, mate.” he said. Steven handed over the five pounds and sat back down. He bought the man a drink and they sat there until closing time, Steven was telling the man his story, and he seemed unreservedly engrossed.
Closing time arrived at 11:30pm and Steven departed. He found himself walking back through the town centre with just a worthless baseball bat. He couldn’t even answer himself as to why he bought it. He’d acquired it almost absentmindedly.
He saw the local police station at the end of the road. He walked in. He walked, feeling disconcerted, up to the desk sergeant who enquired, “Can I help you, sir?” Then, with a swift, sharp swing of the baseball bat, the desk sergeant was on the floor, unconscious. Steven began laying into him with the bat almost obliviously until another police officer pulled Steven off of the sergeant, and threw him up against the wall.
The sergeant was dead. Brutal head injuries meant even intensive care could not salvage his life. Steven was convicted guilty of murdering a police officer on April 15th 2006. “Sentenced to life with no chance of parole!” the judge exclaimed. As he stepped back into his cell, he lied on his bed with an indeterminate smile. One thing was assured. He was home.
