I had been in here for days. I’d been denied food for what seems like weeks. I huddled myself in the corner of the room, pulling my knees to my chest.
I heard the creak of the metal shutter open and a rag landed on the floor. I shuffled over to it and sucked as much moisture from it as I could, the moldy taste taking away any satisfaction from my sustenance.
“Are you ready to admit what you did?”
“I’ll say whatever you want. PLEASE, just give me some food.”
“Good; SAY IT!”
“I murdered my mother! I FUCKING killed her! Are you HAPPY?!?” I cried.
I arrived at the police station and approached the desk.
“Tell them what you told me,” my Dad said smiling.