Sealing My Fate

I’ve heard the stories; men go in there, but they don’t come out quiet the same. Things happen in there, that shouldn’t happen at all. It changes you, even just a little.

They go in there for different reasons; stealing, breaking and entering, rape, murder. They serve various lengths of time; a few months or years, possibly a life sentence or two with or without parole. Of course they do it for different reasons; lonely, poor, fun, hate, anger, jealousy, revenge, psychotic and sometimes, just plain bored.

There are the ones who regret what they did, they feel remorse and sorry for what they have done. They are usually the one’s who get out of there first. There are the guys who swear their innocent, but you know the saying, “everybody’s innocent.” Then, every so often, you get the ‘feral’ man. They brag about what they’ve done and whose life they’ve ruined. It brings them pleasure to know they’ve hurt innocent people; it makes them happy. They would do it again and again, just to see their victim’s fear. It makes me sick. They are the reason everyone suffers here.

Life isn’t fair. It never has been and never will be. Sure people say that justice has been served for the crime, but I wonder, has it really? All that was done was to deny them access to the outside world. How is that justice?! They have pay TV, and a meal three times a day, which is sometimes so mouth watering, you see them drooling. Most get paid because they are not working, classes that are enjoyable, free therapy and no hardship but to watch their backs from other inmates. What about the victims? What about their justice? Their life has been ruined because of a low life scum bag wanting some ‘fun!’ They are the reason some people have to live on the street or can never hold a loved one again. They are the reason that’s someone’s daughter had to become a mother at such a young age. Tell me, has justice really been served? What of the victim and his opinion in there punishment?  What of the friends and family, has their opinion been heard?

Justice will never and can never be served in full. Especially not for the murderer who ruined my family’s life; a man who has tormented my wife and daughter for years; stealing their clothes, writing death threats, stalking them. He was obsessed. Like anybody else, I told the police but they wouldn’t do anything, ‘where’s your proof?’ they said. That’s why I took it into my own hands, because they wouldn’t. I had had enough. I wanted him stopped. That’s why when he made the mistake of climbing through my baby’s window; I made sure it would be the last mistake he ever made.

I still remember my daughter’s bone chilling scream waking me on that cold night. Anger, rage and revenge running down my spine and clouding my vision in red, as I held tight to the bat; swinging it over and over again. The sound of my wife and daughter crying; my wife holding my daughter comfortingly, stroking her blonde hair protectively. Her sobs were heard under the cries of pain from him. He fell silent. My wife then took my baby away from the horrible scene.

The blue and red lights blindingly flashed outside the window lighting up the street. The cops arrested me instead of that worthless scum bag. I didn’t struggle though, what good would that do for me? I didn’t intend for what happened to happen, but I had to do something, anything.

            The sentence passed. I was guilty. I remember when I got to see my wife and daughter’s face for the last time. The hug they gave me, like they were trying to give me enough hugs to last while I was away. I wiped away their tears, and kissed them for the last time for a long while. I said my goodbyes and watched them walk out the doors.

No, I wasn’t innocent and I didn’t feel sorry for what I did, but I definitely didn’t get pleasure from doing it. I would do it again in a heart beat though, not because it felt good, but because I would know that my little family would be safe afterwards. The police, did nothing, so I had to do something.

But I swear it will be the last time I ever do anything of that nature again. That kind of power to have in your hands, to know that their life rests on your shoulders, it’s sick. To know that you’re the reason that someone’s life has been lost and that many lives have been ruined because of it; it weighs you down, it eats at you from the inside out.

I looked down at the cold hard metal wrapped around my wrist’s, turning them red. Ironic isn’t it. I ruined a man’s life, just like he ruined my families. Did he have a family? Kids? Would they want from me, what I took from them?

I watched as the gates closed sealing my fate.

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Sealing My Fate by Ayla Ferguson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

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