Mental Prison

I sit back and stare as the empty bottle rotates around in a circular motion. With every revolution, the sound of glass on wood creating a trance like vibration takes me into a faraway state of mind. Although this doesn't last long, I take in every damn second and try to forget what's occurred over the last 48 hours. Two legs on the ground and two legs suspended in the air, I lean back in this old rickety chair to try and get an eye level glimpse into the now at rest empty vessel. Peering in, I see nothing, I see an empty void that was once full of promise and courage. Hmm, seems all too familiar. My hands gripping the table as I balance this mental act seem to slip, leaving only a dusty outline of what once was. Stability. My back to the floor and face to the ceiling, I was realizing this was it. The screams the violence and lives taken way before their time the money made and the time spent all for what? I knew this wouldn't last, but also couldn't break free of the life of deceit and power. With nowhere to run and only the clothes on my back, I slowly put my ear to the floor, hearing the sounds of footsteps racing up the stairs. I frantically reach for my pistol but quickly give up, this was a new unwelcoming feeling as I've fought my way out of many battles, but this felt different. I've always listened to my inner feelings, and yet this is what my gut told me. I still want to live. Eyes closed and heart steady, I wait for my demise. SMASH!!! The old frail door flew off its hinges and a burst of lights flooded the dark grungy atmosphere. I hear muffles of yelling, but my mind holds quiet. I don't move. With my eyes held tightly shut in darkness, a warm red glow starts to flood my pinched inner sockets like a warm sunny day at the beach. I was absolutely mortified of this day coming and now that it has I feel a sense of clarity and level handedness like a weight being lifted off my crumbling shoulders. As the days turn to nights and my feelings of being alone now sit content in my body. Being in isolation has never been foreign to me. Throughout my criminal career you are taught through harsh reality's that being alone is what keeps you alive and look I'm still alive. Days turn to months, and hatred turns to compassion. Although, no matter how much you try to reconcile the past, it will never leave you. The only thing you can do is hope to change the future. Looking down at the concrete floor in my new dwelling, I hear the cold metal door slowly squeak open. Back facing the door, I feel the all too familiar cold sensation of metal grasping my wrists. The feeling never goes away. I knew the next steps of this process can drag on for what seems to be an eternity. Dressed like my formal self in a lavish three-piece suit felt like going back in time, although who I was then isn't who I'm now. Looking to my left and to my right, my ever so confident advisors give me looks of promise and hope for a second chance. The opportunity to be free rushes in my mind, as this was the goal from the beginning. Lastly, I look around the room at all the broken faces looking back at me, only to find myself in a state of questioning everything. The thought of possibly being free floods my mind, but so does the thought of being in a state of mental prison for the rest of my life. Making those already suffering have to relive the nightmare and torment again hit me like a ton of bricks. Enough fighting the pain of guilt. I know I can't go back in time and right my wrongs, however the outcome of this journey is all in my hands I thought. I slowly stood up with the feeling of the guard's hand on my shoulder, I proceeded to repeat over and over... Guilty your honor. I change my plea from innocent to guilty. It was silent in the room, and so was my struggle for physical freedom.