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.

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