It's dark out and cold. I catch a glimpse as I pass a mirror and see a gaunt face that I am surprised to recognize as my own. My body is lost in the zippered black fleece that makes the unreasonably chilly air just this side of bearable.
There's nothing to remember except that I am in the prison of my decisions under a sentence of death.
I don't think I can stand it much longer. Where am I?
There's nothing to remember except that I am in the prison of my decisions under a sentence of death.
I don't think I can stand it much longer. Where am I?
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