My Last Night.

It's always the same. The same helpless sleep. Every night since they brought me here I've dreamt the same dream every night. At first it starts off innocently enough. I'm eight and playing in the sprinkler in the backyard. It was such a hot day and the drops of water patter gently on my skin, soothing and cooling it. I'm so happy, I spent the day at my Dads Farm and I had a great time. Him and Mom are talking through gritted teeth in the Kitchen, trying not to shout at one another, but I don't notice the tension, I'm just happy dancing in and out of the sprinkler I hear our front door slam and heavy, hurried footsteps leading away. My Dad starts up his old, red pick-up truck and drives away really fast, scattering gravel from our driveway as he goes. I stop dancing and stand still in the sprinkler wondering why my Dad left without saying goodbye. The next thing I know is hearing the screen door slam and before I knew it "WHACK" I am sprawled on the floor clutching the back of my head. "I thought I told you to keep out of the sprinkler Johnny," my mother said in a dangerous growl. I hastily got up and stood before her, avoiding her eyes. "What have I told you will happen if you played in the sprinkler again, hmmm?" her voice was very calm. "Bbath" I mumbled, still not looking at her. She gripped my chin and thrust it up so I had to look into those icy blue eyes. "That's right Johnny " and she smiled, showing her yellowing, crooked teeth. She took hold of my hand with a pincer like grip and guided me over to a rusty trough under the Kitchen window which was surrounded by broken tiles and over-turned flower pots. I knew it was useless to resist, and the more that I did the more she would punish me for it. We reached the trough, which was full of stagnant green water. She forced me to my knees so that my face was only a couple of inches away from the surface. Suddenly she gripped the hair on the back of my head and pushed my head into the water. I hardly had time to take a breath before my head is thrust underwater. It was freezing cold, despite the heat that day. The water felt slimy around my face, like tentacles on a jellyfish. I started to panic and my heartbeat filled my head a drum but I knew she knew exactly how long I could stay under for. Stars danced in front of my eyes and I knew I'd really made her angry this time.. And then my Dream changes, I'm still underwater but it's different. I feel different. I feel old, old and frail and tired. The water isn't green and cold; it's warm and clear. I can feel cold strong hands grip me and a wave of panic washes through me. I begin to struggle and thrash but the hand just seem to grip me harder, pushing me down deeper. I look at my hands and they're old and lined, like old parchment or paper, which has yellowed and cracked with time. They are paper thin and I can see the blue veins in them trying to pump away the deathly gas, which is washing through my body and enveloping everything now. Stars explode in front of my eyes and I know my time is up. Then I wake. I open my eyes and see the cracked, dirty ceiling of my cell, number A307. I roll off my rock hard mattress and walk over to my small slit window. The glass is smashed; I did it myself on the first day I got here when there was a commotion with a prisoner trying to escape. The cool, evening breeze brushes my face as I look out onto the spectacular scene before me. I'm looking out onto the desert, which is Arizona. Snow tipped mountains stand tall and proud on the horizon, casting an early evening shadow over the desert plain beneath them. Tumbleweed dances across the sun baked ground and lays to rest a few metres on. A Lizard emerges from his hole under a rock to hunt in the cool dusk. Mice scurry between stumps of grass. An eagle soars high above, watching the scene below with an unblinking eye. It's hard to comprehend that at this time tomorrow I won't be here. My cell will be empty. The window will still be smashed and the cool air off the mountains will still blow in. The mouse will still scurry and the Eagle glide. The world will go on exactly the same, and I will have made no difference or left no mark of my existence. I know why I dream that dream. I'm not ignorant. It's my punishment for my sin, I know that much. It doesn't mean I feel guilty about it. I don't really. I know that that is probably an evil thing to say but I can't help how I feel. She treated me so badly that I just snapped. I do regret that I am here though. The sun is beginning to set now and my cell is bathed in an orange glow as the sun disappears into the Desert ground on the horizon. I sit down and chew absentmindedly on my meal that was pushed under the bars of my Cell whilst I was asleep. They did ask me if I wanted a certain meal as it was my last but I wanted to remember everything the way it had been. All I can think about is tomorrow morning. Without even knowing it I'm doing it I'm counting down every second. Everything I touch I linger on and everything beautiful I see I want to stare at. I decide to write my poetry. In the weeks that I have been here I have been writing about things that I feel passionate about, things that interest me and generally what I'm thinking and feeling. The light is fast fading from my already dingy room and a feeling of dread grips me like an icy fist in the bottom of my stomach, because I know that the next time I see daylight in my room will be an hour before I die. The light fades so quickly at this time of the year that before I know it I'm fumbling around for my stubby candle and box of matches. I light my candle and write for several hours until my candle fades and fades and until it is no more than a puddle of wax on my table. The Prison is so quiet now, and so dark. Not a thing can be heard and I wonder if I am already dead. I do not fear death in the warm sunshine or when the wind ruffles my hair gently, but who does? It is when the night is so dark and so silent and the very walls of your sanity seem to creep closer and lean over you that you do. When you are utterly alone and evil whispers thoughts of fear and hatred into your mind, that is when you fear death. I now ask of you to not make the same mistake as me. Do not waste your life not doing what you want or living someone else's life. Life is too short and every time that I didn't live out a dream or experience something because of someone else comes flooding back. I hope my Diary and my poetry helps someone else to realise that this life is more than just to read through.

Well, hope you like it. It is a piece of English coursework so please read and review, as I really want to see what people think, even if it is rubbish. Thanks for reading it anyway!