I've been thinking a lot about my release lately—just so I can see my mother again after all these years. She's been appearing more frequently in my dreams, her face lined with pain and longing. Those dreams have become my motivation to survive this hellhole called prison.
I took the fall for someone else's crime, thinking it was the best way to help her. I believed protecting her name and honor would be worth it, but I see now that I only added more pain to her already wounded heart. Thinking of how I might earn her forgiveness and win back her love is reason enough to stay alive through this ambush I find myself in.
Right now, I'm surrounded by lunatics in the workshop—guys who have vowed not to let me live for even one more minute. The so-called attorney really crossed the line, but whining about it won't help. I know Death is likely waiting for my early return—but not this time. And Not on her terms.
They attacked with everything they had, using their best skills and brute strength. But I fought back, one blow at a time, and I was sure to kick their asses. I hadn't believed young Francis—the body I'm now living in—could survive this kind of ambush. But he did. I did.
After a grueling fight, I knocked them all out. Then, the guards arrived. Of course, they showed up only after everything had ended. I suspected they had known about the attack beforehand and deliberately stayed away from the workshop. Still, I couldn't afford to get into more trouble—not with release on the horizon.
As I stood among the fallen, catching my breath, I took a moment to admire this body.
"This body is amazing," I whispered to myself. "He may be a convict, but he's young and strong."
I praised myself silently and walked out to catch some air in the prison yard. The weather outside was serene and cool—a rare kind of peace in a place like this. I sat on one of the benches located at the center of the yard, soaking it in.
Then Shizzle came out of the workshop. Guilt was painted across his face like a confession. He kept his eyes fixed to the ground as he walked toward me. Maybe he had no choice earlier but to fight against me. Still, we share the same cell. I can't help but wonder—can I ever trust him again?
We sat in silence for a moment before he broke it.
"Aren't you worried whether we'll be given a second chance once we're out of here?" he asked, almost in a whisper.
"Do you regret ending up here?" I asked back.
Shizzle didn't have to answer. I could see it in his eyes. Red, puffy, almost on the verge of tears. He wore the face of a man haunted by mistakes he couldn't undo. He thinks it's too late to chase his dreams, too late to be accepted again by the world—by his old friends who know he's in juvie for things he regrets deeply.
"Yes," he finally said. "And I regret it every day. What about you?"
"At first, it felt so unfair," I began. "But now, I regret being trapped in a prison called Death—after ruining my own life, thinking I was doing the right thing. It's too late for me, I think. But now that I've seen what hell looks like, I realize that being alive at all... it's a chance. That's why I don't think it's too late for you."
I was afraid he might consider ending his life after release. And if he did, Death might trap him in something worse than what I'm going through now.
Night fell, and it was time to rest after the long, chaotic day. We were all marched back to our cells. As usual, everyone took their positions and drifted off to sleep—except Josh.
He wasn't asleep because he had something planned. That bastard was plotting again, just like he did with Sharif. He wanted to get rid of me now—because I'd exposed his lies and made him vulnerable to the rest of the inmates. As the others slept soundly, he crept into the washroom and began sharpening the edge of a toothbrush. That was going to be his weapon.
I had always known Josh wouldn't change. He'd been cornered, yes, but his instinct was always to kill. I just didn't expect him to move this quickly, especially after being exposed. I followed him quietly and grabbed his hand just as he was testing the edge of the makeshift shank.
"You're such a sore loser, aren't you? I knew you'd be at it again," I said, my voice calm but charged.
Then I landed a hard slap across his face.
"How many more years do you want to add to your sentence by trying to kill me? Haven't you given up yet?"
Josh, being Josh—selfish, arrogant, and delusional—tried to twist it all into my fault.
"It's already over for me," he snapped. "The other inmates see me as weak now—all because of you, you son of a bitch!"
I slapped him again. Harder this time.
Even after everything, his instinct was still to kill. No remorse. No change. I started wondering—should I just kill him? End it all right now? But no. I needed to get out. I needed to find Aerion's hidden stash. Killing him would jeopardize that. Still, leaving him alive pissed me off.
"Did it hurt when I slapped you?" I asked. "Did it hurt more than when Philips slapped you?"
The color drained from his face, then he froze.
"How do you know that name?" he stammered.
To mess with his mind further, I cast a glance behind him—at his shadow.
"Sharif told me. He's standing right behind you."
Josh scrambled backward on the floor, dragging himself away from the imagined ghost. I tapped him gently on the head and said, "Didn't I tell you I see and speak to the dead?"
His eyes widened and his lips trembled.
"I see dead people," I whispered. "And my mother is a shaman."
He was breaking down now, terrified beyond reason. But I wasn't done.
"Sharif told me he once poured noodles on you, right?" I said. "He wants to know if you're even sorry for what you did to him."
Josh looked me straight in the eye. No remorse. Just bitterness.
"Why would I be sorry?" he hissed. "I'm stuck in this hellhole because of him. My life is ruined—all because of Sharif."
That was it. I lost it, again.
I start to beat him up, but not enough to kill him—and enough to make him feel what Sharif couldn't deliver. Enough to scare him until he peed in his pants. Then I leaned in, whispering, "Sharif will haunt you for the rest of your miserable life."
I meant it. Killing him would've been easy. Letting him rot away here, wasting his youth in fear—that was a better punishment.
Then... the day of my release finally came.
Shizzle and a couple of other inmates were released with me. Their families came for them—parents, siblings, friends. They were wrapped in warm hugs, happy tears, and promises of second chances.
But me?
I stood alone. No father. No mother. Not even a friend to welcome me back into the world.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and walked toward the gate. Before I could leave the prison premises, the same attorney who had once ordered my death appeared. He approached cautiously, fake sincerity written all over his face.
He begged me not to reveal the truth. Not to expose the real perpetrator—the one I'd gone to prison for. He offered me more money than I'd ever asked for before. Trying to buy silence with cash.
I looked him straight in the eye.
"I've forgotten everything," I said coldly. "I don't want anything to do with you, your people, or your money. All I want is a new start."
I walked away. Not because I'd forgiven them, but because I had other plans now.
Somewhere out there, Aerion's money was hidden—money only I know about. Maybe, just maybe, my life could turn around this time.
But as I always say… fate always has its way with me.