I have spent countless nights like this, lying awake, anticipating life, trying to escape imprisonment through my mind’s eye. I imagine the things I will do once I’m free. Flashes of me laughing with family and friends at a cookout or enjoying the company of a beautiful woman play out in my mind like a silent movie.
I remember the images, so different from these, that swam through my mind on my first night in prison. Hopelessness describes it best. Sorrow, self-pity, and regret stood in the way of my future, along with the steel bars that caged me in. I could not wrap my head around the fact that the next 16 years of my life would be spent in a cell so small that I could lie on my bunk and touch the toilet, sink, and desk without getting up. I was buried alive. Alive but not living.
Suddenly, the door of my cell opens, and an officer says, “Wright, are you ready?" As I rise from my bunk, I am thinking, Is he fucking serious? I’ve been ready since the day the jury foreman read “guilty” off a little index card at my trial.
[For more on this story by ROBERT WRIGHT, go to https://www.themarshallproject...-behind?ref=hp-1-111]
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