He never put up a fight and now he’s got to pay the price. He’s in the state penitentiary doing twenty-to-life. He knows he dug himself into this hole, but everything will be alright if he just waits for parole. The nights are as empty as the days are long, but he’d better if he knew what it was he did wrong. Unsure if he’s guilty, but it can’t be helped because whatever the reason, he knows he brought it all on himself. He finds familiar comfort living in between walls, but a tiny voice keeps whispering, “This isn’t living at all.” Does the life he’s waiting for exist only in dreams? His shoulders sag, he lowers his head and he screams, “I won’t offer a plea! I gotta get off my knees! There’s only one way out and I hold the key!” He lifts his head from his hands, decides he doesn’t want to sit alone in an empty cell for a crime he didn’t commit. Inhales deeply and counts to three. Rips the bars out from the wall. He was out, but he wasn’t free. You see, the guards were waiting armed with billy clubs and mace, and one had a .45 pointed right at his face. But when the dust had settled, he was the only one left to stand. The Warden stepped out from the shadows and put up his hands. He said, “I’m sorry we kept you here when you were never at fault, but now that you’ve done your time we forgive your brazen assault.” Well our hero’s eyes narrowed, he felt his heart begin to harden, and when it finally turned to stone he said, “I don’t need your fucking pardon.”