|Shameless: A Full Confession
Author: Who Is This Girl Anyway PM
From his prison cell, a man writes about his life and tries to proclaim his innocence.Rated: Fiction T - English - Supernatural - Words: 444 - Reviews: 9 - Favs: 3 - Published: 11-13-10 - id: 2864284
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: If you are reading this, then thanks. That's all I have to say.
13th November 2010
To whomever finds the confession of this innocent man,
The first thing you should know is that I never meant for harm to come to Lilith Jones. Nor did I mean to harm Angela Davids, William Elson, or anyone else that might have choked on the smoke that wafted from the flames eating away at my world until nothing was left but bitter memories and the smell of petrol fumes. I swear to you that I never planned for the devil to drag me from my doorstep into the slow suffocation of freedom I endure for 23 hours every day. Some days, I feel the walls pushing closer in, almost as though they care what I have to say.
Why am I telling you this? Better yet, why am I writing a letter no one will ever read? This letter will never leave my cell, I don't doubt, so why am I wasting paper? Has my mind opened the emergency exit to save me from the unpainted walls, from the hard bed I haven't slept in all year, the two people whose wretched company has been inflicted on me, the two silent voices I'm allowed to hear? I must be mad, along with everything else.
No. I haven't gone mad... not now, not while I'm still in this cell. Is that what has been planned for me? To lose my sanity? Am I to be robbed of the final thing I possess? Well no one can have it! Leave me that! Everything else is gone, leave me my mind! I've lost my home, my friends, my freedom! Leave me my mind...
I swear to you, reader, I didn't start the chain of foul events. Truthfully, I never hated those people, never wished bad luck on them, never hoped they would be harmed... but those people were harmed, and there was nothing I could have done, nothing, I swear. Is that why I'm writing to you? Perhaps seeing the words on paper might ease my conscience. Maybe I'll be left alone when ink is spilled rather than blood. Then again, maybe as I give my monologue, this will serve merely as a cruel reminder that I stand alone on the stage, that the theatre is empty and that blood stains the scenery.
Maybe I just want to give my witness testimony. I don't know which of these it is, but maybe I'll learn more from these pages than you do, my dear, non-existant reader.