Strapped Down.

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Very slowly the incidents which led up to my imprisonment cleared in my head. It only took me a few minutes to realize the impossible situation I was in. The attending nurse filled in the blanks. I killed police officer Abrahams on the spot. When they took me to the hospital I was barely alive. I spent the last three months in a coma.

Now that I was alive and back in the land of the living, I would, in a short while, be declared fit for trial. I could already see the mockery of the proceedings. I would be asked to plead and, on the advice of counsel I would respond, “Not guilty your honor.” After long delays and all the while being held up in a holding cell, I would eventually be read my fate by a bald and spectacled, respectable, a magistrate whose job it was to protect law-abiding citizens against scum like me.

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell them to skip the commercials and go straight to the main feature, which was a sentence of life imprisonment without the possibility of parole, saving us time and energy. I kept quiet, simply because I did not care enough. With no resources at my disposal, the result and verdict are a foregone conclusion. What saddened me the most was not the fact that I did not receive any visitors but the fact that Lady Rosè was no more. No more glamorous ball gowns… no more feather boas... no more exotic makeup… no more silk stockings… no more prancing around on fancy stilettos… no more parties…  no more painted fingernails.

Nothing. The only thing to look forward to was life (or what was left of it), spent in this ugly orange straight jacket. I shrugged my shoulders with the utmost contempt. I would forgive anyone anything except calling me by that despicable name of Lawrence Roberts.

I am, and always will be… Lady Rosè.

The End.

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