Innocent Prisoner

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
i actually wrote this for a school contest. it didn't win anything, but i thought it was pretty good.

Submitted: June 28, 2016

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Submitted: June 28, 2016



They lead me down a dark hallway with a door at the end. This was my punishment. No life in prison. No death penalty. Deep inside, I knew I was lucky. 

When they charged me, I thought, how bad could this be? But now, given a choice, I would have picked death. Death would have been easier.

This wasn't punishment. This was torture. I was innocent. I didn't kill them. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The police showed up when I was at the crime scene. I was stupidly holding the gun I'd just found. I didn't know there were seven dead teenagers shoved into a dumpster behind me. 

Of course, this didn't look good in court. The fact that no one new where I'd been the last 30 minutes didn't help. So here I was. Serving my punishment. 

I walked into the small windowless room. I lie down on the cold metal table. The doctor straps me down. I watch as he prepares the needle.

"Stop!: I hear footsteps running down the hall. A man with wild hair and a crooked tie bursts in. He straitens himself, " Stop! This is inhumane. Look at her."

"I'm not as young as I look." I say. It feels good to talk. I had been mostly silent the past few days. 

"Still. " 

"Who are you?" My doctor asks.

"Craig Underwood. I demand you stop. This girl is innocent."

"Really?" My doctor asks sarcastically.

"There are no records of her owning a gun. Her finger prints weren't on the body. She didn't know the victim." Craig says.

"I have no orders to stop. Please exit, Mr. Underwood." The doctor says.

"But-" Craig is interrupted by two gauds grabbing him.

"Mr. Underwood, you're coming with us." I watch as Craig struggles against them. The doctor locks the door after they've gone. 

"You won't feel a thing." He says. He's right. I don't feel the needle penetrate my skin. And for a second I don't think anything has happened. Then every painful, sad, and depressing memory of my life. Every terrible thing I've done is there. Every memory and feeling I try to block out floods in and fills my head. 

When I wake up, tears are streaming down my face. The doctor is unstrapping me. He doesn't make eye contact, he never does.

Then the gaud is back. He takes me down the same hall I just walked down. I read the numbers on the cell doors. 203, 204, 205. The guard will take me to the same cell, the same bed, the same blank walls. 

I tried talking to guards. They don't answer. So the walk down the hall is silent. 

I have one more of these punishments left. I'm lucky I don't have more. I've watched inmates struggle for lesser punishments, but I don't. I know it's useless. The media has turned me into a cold-blooded killer. To the world I'm a killer. But I'm innocent. Even if no one believes me.

© Copyright 2018 lizzy henderson. All rights reserved.

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