Innocent yet Guilty

Have you ever been in a dark place and the only way to reach the light is through others? However, that day never happens.

“Mr. Murphy.”

“……….”

“Mr. Murphy.”

“I know that we have done this before, please tell me again. How exactly, did you reach this point in your life Mr. Murphy?”

A pregnant pause was the result of his question. A few more moments passed before there was a shift by a man sitting on a wooden chair. His head was lying unmoving on the desk in the corner of the dark room. A second went by. And then moments went by before the man stirred. The sat up, unfolding his muscular arms and gently brushed some noticeable dirt particles off his orange jumpsuit.

The jumpsuit was an eyesore, but who could be complaining when you’re a prisoner on death row.

An annoyed sound of an exhale filled the room. The man known as Mr. Murphy rubbed his eyes and let loose an exhausted yawn. Gather himself he gazed into the mirror that hung on the wall directly in front of him.

He knew the routine. For safety reasons, his room was to be checked thoroughly so that the guards could be left at ease.

Placing his hands on his head and getting on his knees he slowly leaned forward until his forehead touched the cold cement floor. He didn’t mind too much for the coldness or the floor. He spent the last 15 years of his life in this one room and saw improvement within it. The paint of the walls no longer chipped and peeled like it used too. Also, the pungent ammonia smell of piss no longer attacked his nostrils. The strong metallic smell of blood also didn’t attack his nostrils either. He remembered that day like it was yesterday. He was removed from D-block because his former cellmate decided to slit his own throat with a homemade shank he created from kitchen duty. It was a gruesome and grotesque sight.

Blood was everywhere. Even on him.

All he could do was run to the door and yell to the guard for help. What sane person wouldn’t panic in that situation? Especially when his blood splattered everywhere and he made this terrible gurgling noise as his eyes rolled in the back of his head.

He tried to save him by gripping his neck in hopes of stopping the bleeding.
However, it was futile. All he was reward with was his hands covered in blood and traces of his saliva that was mixed in it.

He knew he was in trouble. Dead cellmate with his blood covering his hands. To make things even worst. Since they had bunk beds the shank he used slipped out of his hands and onto his bed.

He was screwed. You might as well flip him over because he was done. Before he could even think of cleaning up some of the mess the heavy metal doors slide open. Open to reveal that while all this was going on there was a riot. In his panic, he wasn’t aware of the alarm blaring in the background. It was deafening. How did he manage to not hear that?

Turning his attention to the door, three large white men covered in tattoos entered his sell. At that moment, he knew this just wasn’t his day. They all looked at him with gazes in their eyes that spoke volumes of their character. They were rotten to the core. The smaller more flamboyant one licked his lips as he pulled out a shank out of his pocket.

The medium size one just grinned, showing off his rotting teeth as he moved to close the cell door. The middle man but largest of all cracked his knuckles daring him to make any movements. He was a mountain of a man.

Before he could react all three men began to descend on him. How could he allow them to get into his space without realizing it? It was almost as if…as if…they were inhuman. He could feel the bigger of the three men wrap his muscular arms around him and place him in an iron grip. Then the smaller one walked up to him and begin to stab him repeatedly, while the other just laughed. The pain was excruciating. The bile in his throat began to build up and spill out. The metallic taste of blood was all he tasted. The world around him began to spin and all he could hear was laughter. All he could ask was why him?

Why did this have to happen to him?

Before he left this world, for his soul to be unrest, he could only picture the headlines.

An innocent man incriminated by the system left for dead in prison cell with fatal knife wounds.