Long, black hair covers the young man's dark brown eyes,
and the growth on his face gives the appearance
of exactly what he is: a prisoner.
A prisoner sentenced to death.
This morning, he wakes up in his small, dirty room,
just like every other morning.
The life of a prisoner is redundant.
Today is different, though.
Today is a new day.

The sun attempts to invade the room through his tiny window,
contrasting the prevalent glow in his dark eyes and face.
He had known this day was coming,
but it had never really registered until this morning
when he pushed aside his thin covers.
After these thirteen years of imprisonment,
there would be an execution today.

Eons ago, it seems,
he had stood in the shadows of the judges
and listened to their merciless sentences.
They had then proceeded to discuss the terms
and details as to how it would happen;
what he would look like after it was over;
the place that it would happen,
with its convenient little sections for each victim,
only a few feet apart.
Remnants of past prisoners lay scattered
across floors.
One of them even cleaned up after each victim was finished;
it was gruesome,
and it was all his today.
No more waiting.
The time had come.

On the way to this terrible place,
the procedure replaying itself in his head
he feels so helpless.
They arrive soon enough, and get a perfect parking spot,
dead center.
They approach the glass window,
with all its plastic letters.
The reflections show a young man, head down,
staring at the ground as he slowly follows
his mother. She pulls the door,
but it doesn't budge.

"Oh shoot.
I forgot the barber was closed today.
Oh well.
We'll just come tomorrow."