I'd give anything for a good home cooked meal, like Mama used to make. Just thinking about her cooking makes me hungry. I haven't seen Mama in almost a year now. Ever since I killed my poor, innocent wife, it's as if she's disowned me. I don't think that I'll ever fully be able to understand why.
Life gets extremely lonely here on death row.
What makes it worse is knowing that any day now, the guards will come for me, taking me away to die. What frightens me more is the thought of the pain of the electric chair that I will be forced to endure. I try not to think of that though. Mostly, I think about that special place I see so often in my dreams. That beautiful place where the sharp, pointed tips of the jagged mountains seem to meet the horizon.