Epilogue
It was the way everyone stared at her. This poor, lonely soul led a life that she barely began to live. There was no talk, but everyone heard of the case. No one knew what to believe, but if she was found guilty, then she was the culprit. She said nothing. Not a word since she was brought into the penitentiary. She’s been here for a few weeks and her once plump figure was noticeably getting skinnier. She started wearing clothes that were loose, extra large rather than the small or medium everyone assumed she was. Yet, the others tried to associate with her. They tried to give her a more positive outlook in this prison. What positivity was there for someone facing murder? She was going to be here until her last breath.
It was the grieving process. It was unbearable to find herself in this situation when she had dreams — she had plans once she graduated from college. She majored in communications, she had charisma. Everyone loved the spirit she developed and the kindness she expressed in this world. This beautiful world with demented people. The wrong crowd and now she was a withered ghost among many that did wrong. She wasn’t sure what part of the grieving process she was in now. Surely it wasn’t acceptance because she still felt entirely bitter. Five accounts of murder? She will always be bitter. There was no forgiveness or forgetness. If there was any miracle — a chance — a blessing that she’d make it out alive in this place, vengeance would be pursued.
For now, there were no more tears left to cry. No one was going to save her. She knew family was teaching her a “lesson” to serve out her time for the crime she committed. She called no one and she refused any visitors. Anyone would believe she was a spirit roaming the halls aimlessly. No one bothered her. No one cared to be attentive. The life in her eyes were replaced with a deep sorrow that was unfathomable. It would be simply cruel to bother a woman that reached a breaking point. The constant bet that she’d be found dead in her cell soon was ongoing, but each day passed was victory. Each week that went by was a win.
Maybe someday she would speak to the others. Maybe someday she will tell her story. Maybe someday, they would all understand why she was mute and distant. She was in the mindset that her time would come. No matter how long it would be, she would have the last laugh. The last word. She would have the last look and she would inhale the look of agony as she truly added another murder to her name. She’s cried ever since she arrived at this location and now the tears dried up. The river was no more. Instead, the crying made her vision blurry, and when things were blurry that meant clarity was out of reach and she couldn’t be defeated.
She would accept this sentence. She would not embrace. She would dream of the day when life would do her right. Would do them right. Everyone always raised a brow as to why she preferred her uniforms to be extra large, but they weren’t brave enough to question it. As she slipped a hand inside her sleeve, the palm covered her belly, and she would smile.
