Jail Scene
The cold handcuffs grind against the bones of my skinny wrists. I struggle against the guards, but not for the purposes of escape, it’s just that they are a fair bit taller than me, and it is hard to walk when you are being lifted in the air by your armpits. They seemed to have picked up on my discomfort, as they put me down and held onto me by the collar of my shirt. Though this was not a courtesy, they just knew I would move along quicker if I could walk. At last, we come to the visitation room, and the one who came to see me is already there. In that cold grey room, a single window behind him is the only source of dim light, he almost looks like a silhouette. I am handcuffed to my chair across the table from him, he asks the guards to leave, they comply, and our conversation begins. “We found another one of your victims,” says my Detective, as he pulls out a manilla envelope from the suitcase at his feet. “I confessed to all my victims already, there are no more for you to f