A week had passed, and today was a day I had been anticipating for years: the day of my freedom.
Four long years in this prison had felt like an eternity. I was desperate to step out and see America, not just in fleeting glimpses from behind bars, but in its full, vibrant color. More than that, though, my greatest desire was to hold, hug, and kiss my son whom I hadn’t seen or heard about since he was eight months old. The anticipation gnawed at me, driving me to the brink of madness.
I wouldn’t leave this place with anything tangible, except for the haunting memories of those I had killed. Deaths no one knew about, and if they’re still alive, they are certainly in serious condition. I prided myself on knowing my limits. If I didn’t, my body count would be much higher. Here, just like out
