The Cage

Three walls, and a cage, multiplied infinitely as it seemed. Cell number 4-0-2. I guess you could say+ that is my name. I've seen many criminals come and go over the years, but no one like these two. They've truly regretted what they've done, and I don't want to see them go...

Murder. That was the crime they were convicted of. They aren't like the others who even to their last day of life say they didn't do it when everyone knows they did. They accept it. They wish they hadn't done it. They know there's no turning back.

“I always said, 'anyone come after my girls I'd kill 'em.” Stan's words were laced with a thick Boston accent. “I do regret it, though. I'll never get to see 'em anymore. Don't know how I'll handle that.”

“I agree, at least they're offing me soon, eh?” At first glance, Harold seemed like any other Boston boy with the accent and all, but it doesn't take long to realize that he's not originally from Boston. Just a bit south from there. He was reamed in Wattsburg, Pennsylvania. A very small town, of only about 340 people. Being brought up in an area like that, he never really learned the importance of watching what you say.

“Hey now, don't go sayin' that.”

“What? It's true.”

It worked almost like clockwork, and even more like coincidence. The moment Harold mention that he was supposed to be taken to the chair soon, the men in the gray suits rushed towards them. They gripped his arm tightly, if he wasn't going to die it probably would have bruised. They began to lead him out, but Stan ran to his side and began to pull back, trying to make them stop, and let Harold stay. They simply pushed him back, resulting in him sitting on the floor, his hand clenched in anger and grief. Harold tilted his head back towards Stan and simply gave him a submissive smirk, and allowed himself to be lead out. As soon as they stepped out of my door I lost all sight of Harold.

X-X-X-X-X

He's thinking about taking his life now. He'll never see his family, the people who he tried to protect, but in the end resulted in him being here. He'll never see his best friend. The one that almost willingly let himself be taken. He just doesn't see a reason to live anymore.

He doesn't know quite how to do it, though. He sits in the top bunk and scratches at the matress, hoping to expose the metal springs. Maybe he's thinking of

using those? I don't think I could bear to see him do it.

He hasn't moved from that spot, even when my door is opened to let the go to the court yard or the cafeteria. They bring him food, but he refuses to eat it. Sometimes they force him to. It's upseting. He just doesn't have the will to go on.

But he wont take his life. He only thinks of it. He knows his day is going to come. He will be pulled out of me, his cage, just like Harold. He will be strapped to the chair, just like Harold. He will die with a needle in his arm, just like Harold. And that's the way he wants to go.

Reviews

[zappy]

wow nice story its great