Sitting, waiting. Waiting to be processed like a sheep or cow being branded with a upc symbol. Just a number now. “A62479”, I hear the guard behind the counter yell in a grim husky voice that makes me shiver. Guess that’s me. I slowly get up, dreading the inevitability of doom the rest of my days in here will hold. I am fingerprinted and two very nice photos are taking of me. I smile this time as it’s the sixth time they have taken these damn things. The guard gives me a look like “you’re not going to last in this place.” I smile right back at his unforgiving glance. Next is the wonderful strip down and search. I make it through and still try to keep up the facade of positivity. Basking in sheer horror in my mind at what will come next. The company I will be in. The meals I will endure. The life sentence that I will have to fight out. Through all of this I still have a righteousness that will not quit. I think of only nine words.
“I’m sorry mom, but HE did deserve to die.”