A Perspective Shift
I was sitting there in my cell. It was dark, dank and stank. I could hear the mice scurry over the floor. I wasn't supposed to have been caught but I did the crime. I knew my time was short and I would die soon. The sun was just starting to rise. It was one more day for me to sit within these four walls and wait for the calling of my name, my time to go, the final hoorah. There would be no one coming to my rescue. There would be no one mourning my death. I was a murderer. I had willfully, intentionally incited an uprising. I was trouble. I deserved my fate. I'd resigned myself to it. Oh how I wish I could go back. I would've done things differently. If I could, I wouldn't do it again at all. This cell is cold. I miss my family. They've written me off. They don't come visit. They've given up on me. I'm a lost cause for them. They are damaged by reputation. Wait. What's this noise? What's going on outside? There must be something major happening. ...