Jenkins left the Inn as expected. He was a very, very tall man, dressed in baggy trousers and a stained white shirt with the top button undone. He walked slowly and clumsily, carrying a small, leather briefcase in his left hand. This is him. This is the man I was about to kill. My heart was racing and my hands were shaking. The brutal, bitter downpour hammered against the concrete, overpowering any other sound that dare challenge it. Perfect.
Hidden behind a small concrete wall I crouched, waiting for Jenkins to pass. Adrenaline coursed through my body, my heart drumming in my chest, hot and fast in anticipation.
Thump
Thump
Thump
He was almost here. I quietly drew the revolver from its sheath and held it close. I’d never used it before; it was given to me by the same man who gave me the note. The same man who would kill me if I didn’t kill Jenkins. A sudden wave of strong emotion washed over me. I felt it sharply in my chest and then throughout my body.
I was about to kill a man I’d never even met.
A man who was in some way, very similar to myself. Desperate, afraid, and caught up in a game much bigger than ourselves. And that’s when he appeared in front of me.
His face reflected mine; shocked, confused, panicked. We awkwardly stood, staring at each other like deer caught in the headlights. My trembling hands steadied the revolver towards the man. I closed my eyes. I held my breath.
Crack!
The deafening boom of violent thunder echoed around the concrete walls of Rockwood Penitentiary. I woke up in a cold sweat, shivering and unable to catch my breath. The yellow ceiling light greeted me with a bright stare. The dreaded nightmare repeats itself daily, taunting me with its clarity.
The cells shape was sharp and brutal. The dirty walls were littered with ravings of unfairness and injustice, and rainwater leaked through the small, barred window three meters high above the bed. The thin blanket was futile at keeping the bitter, biting cold at bay, and an uncomfortable smell of damp, sweat, and cleaning product saturated the confining cell that I called home. I lay, like most nights, staring at the flickering ceiling light as moths danced around it. I’d been warned it was going to be bad, but I never expected this.
Every hour of every day the prison bell would chime, driving each prisoner closer and closer to insanity. The shadow of the evil guard would seep through the rusted bars of each cell, his slow whistle mocking the starving prisoners that sat shivering.
The small window provided a glimpse into normal life. Into freedom, and the happiness and joy it brings. Every night, girls and boys, men and woman walk freely and peacefully, careless to the miserable lives of us dirty, violent prisoners. Because of course, that’s all we are. That’s all I am. I deserve to have my life taken away, for I have taken the life away from another.
I still hadn’t truly come to terms with what had happened, and I was still in a rather traumatised, dazed state. My mind was filled with thoughts Jenkin’s face. How scared he was. How scared I was. How I had so wrongly stole him of his life. No one has the right to do such thing. How dare I! How dare I kill him! And now I’m here. Locked up, confined, caged like a wild animal for the rest of my life. I long for a second chance, a new beginning, a new life. A job, a house, a family. Anything.
I deserve this all. Which is what led me onto writing this account, to leave behind at least something. It is raining, much like the dreaded night, ice-silver bitter bullets of spite and fury. The lacerating wind blows harshly and strongly. I look out from the roof for miles. I can finally be free from the cell. From the prison. From the guilt. From myself.
Goodbye.