Post by GREYtheFLAILER on Dec 11, 2010 2:13:37 GMT -5
Name: Colby Sabre
Age: 19
Date of Birth: May 13th, 1991
Accused Of:
- The murder of Miyuki Tsubasa
- Assault to a police officer
- Perjury
Proved: Guilty
Sentenced To: Life in Prison
It’s hard to have any hope in this damned world, when you’re in my circumstances. The handcuffs are rubbing the skin around my wrists raw, but that’s become a feeling I’ve begun to adjust to. I knew I’d need to get used to it, as soon as I’d arrived here. From the second I asked to have my cuffs loosened, and the officer just laughed. As if I was playing some game. If I were playing a game to try to escape, it wouldn’t be as useless as asking to have my cuffs loosened. I would have thought of something more intelligent; something that would give me the upper hand. After all, if I could just get equal to any of these guys... I’d be destined to win, wouldn’t I?
I suppose that’s why man invented guns.
When I’d first showed up here, I’d been afraid of them. But now, I don’t even flinch at the sight of a drawn gun. Not towards me, not towards any of the other guys here. It’s just an officer flexing their muscle; seeking comfort in a weapon. Because they can’t handle us man-to-man. No, that’d be far too equal, for the Police here. After all, all the convicts here are inferior, to the men on The Force. That’s what they seem to think, at least. Always laughing at our mistakes, and waving their badges around in a sad attempt to seem more powerful. It’s fucking stupid. They need to grow a pair, and man up. I’d love to see how hard they’d be laughing, once dead at my feet. But then again, there’d be no fun in that.
After all they’ve put me through, I ought ‘a have some fun.
It was a Sunday morning, around 2 o’clock, when I’d just gotten home from the Hospital. I did the same thing every night: went to the Hospital, held her hand, and fell asleep. Then, and only then, would I get up when a nurse woke me, and I’d come back home to get ready for work. There’d been no change in Yuuie’s progress, but I hadn’t believed she would leave me. Of course I hadn’t; I loved her. And you don’t give up on the ones you love.
Anyways, next thing I know, I got home after work to a bunch of men pointing their little guns at me. Oh, wonderful.
At first I thought it was some sort of sick joke; that is, until one of them shoved me against the wall rather harshly, saying I was under arrest. And when I asked for what, well, the words will never be forgotten. “For the murder of Miyuki Tsubasa.” And then, well... Then, I’d snapped. I grabbed the guy by his neck, and shoved him off of me. Only before throwing him to the ground, and getting in my fair share of hits. The others didn’t fire at me, but now I really wish they would have. Maybe if I would have thrown something; a chair, maybe. Then they would have shot me, and I’d be at peace. But, of course, that didn’t happen. Nothing ever worked out for me, it seems.
So now, I’m here, guilty for the murder of the girl I lived for.
So they think.
I’d gone through the stages of loss and depression, sure. But the thing was, is that no one saw it. Why, in the fucking hell would I let that happen? If there’s anything I’m not going to be, it’s weak. And showing any of this emotion shit makes me week. I can deal with my loss perfectly.
As long as I can beat the shit out of something, more than twice daily.
And see, it was that problem that got me into this isolation cell, here. So now, I’m all locked up, with no one to talk to. The walls are white, the bench is white. Hell, the fucking toilet is white. And it’s driving me absolutely insane. But, I won’t let it get to me. I will be strong; just like she would have wanted. I’ll cry in secret, if I have to, and I’ll keep myself together. I’ll keep all the breaking pieces together. Or, as close to together as I can manage. I feel like one of those puzzles, that’s missing a piece. No one knows this, of course. But then again, no one honestly cares. To them, I’m nothing but a murderer.
Nothing but a cold-blooded killer.
But are they right?
Is this really my fault?
I suppose there’s only one thing to do, to find out.
Escape.
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