𝐇𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐬.
Love is hope for the hopeless and sin for the saint. Love is both a salvation for the lost and a temptation for the righteous. It drives people to cross lines they swore ne...
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📌 Warning: Blóod, torturé
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I dragged my prosthetic finger across the cold wall, the broken tile etching the words I'd been repeating to myself,
"Not all criminals are prisoners, and not all prisoners are criminals. - Prisoner 704."
The letters weren't perfect; my hands trembled from the weakness of two days without much food and the limited water they gave me. I proceed to write more,
"Cut my hand, I will still hold her. Cut my leg, I will still stand in front of her. Cut my tongue, I will still talk with my eye. Cut my eye, I will still see through my mind. Unalive me, and I will still live for her. -R."
The ribbon tied around my wrist- her ribbon was now torn, its fibers fraying like my hope.
Useless.
I looked at it and let out a hollow laugh. What's good is coming? Soon, I'd be taken to the Supreme Court? When they'd announce my fate in a single sentence, with no hesitation, no remorse?
When the judge break his pen tip, my last breath will be taken.
Would they even ask for my last wish? Or was I so insignificant that even that wouldn't matter?
I leaned my head back against the wall, closing my eyes. The silence of cell was deafening, broken only by the occasional sounds of distant gunshots, the clinking of keys, or the low hum of guards walking by.
But then, something unexpected happened. A rare occurrence.
A faint pop sound echoed through outside. I opened my eyes, unsure if I had imagined it. Then another shot. And another.
Firecrackers.
I froze, disbelief washing over me. Firecracker sounds...here? In this place of death and despair?
I couldn't help the small, bitter smile that crept onto my face. It was rare to hear anything joyful here. In solitary confinement, the only sounds were of violence-guns, pistols, rifles, bombs.
