My mouth is craving for a sip to drink. They told me no fluids before the execution or else I would make a mess when the deed was performed. I would give anything for one last sip of his blood. My weak, pathetic sobs manifest themselves into loud shrieks. He yelled the same thing that night.
Life can be so very ironic.
I reach for the bars as they drag me down the hall. There is no escape. I can see mother crying now. She expected so much more from her son. She doesn't understand either, no one does.