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Everything is lost. There is no greater feeling than loss. I’ve lost my job. I’ve lost my wife. I’ve lost my son. And the worst part of it all is, neither of them realise. I had no time to tell them. No time to say goodbye. And now, sitting here in this dirty, rattling correctional truck, heading for god knows where, I feel more lost than ever.

Not only that, I am held down. Tied. Restrained. I cannot feel my hands through the cuffs holding my wrists together and I cannot even begin to try and feel my heart again.


Just a boy. His clothes say convict. His shaved head says convict and the fact that I have him cuffed as he steps from the authority shadowing my vehicle screams inmate. But he is just a boy and my hand trembles as I raise the gun to his petrified face and he crumbles into a child once more.

There is a crack. An ear piercing explosion that whips through the air and then silence. Everything turns to greyscale except for the crimson staining his shirt, dipping from his wound and still warm from his mouth. He was just a boy.


I can hear her crying beneath me, but her body has overtaken her mind and is still grinding against mine. She wants this as much as I do, only her salty objections to our love making means she doesn’t want me to go. She doesn’t want to wake up tomorrow morning asleep in an empty bed. She doesn’t want to be a single parent to the little boy with the smile like his father’s. And I don’t want to lose the love of my entire life.

But I have no choice. What I have done can only be redeemed alone.


It’s not the ideal weapon of choice but it is quick. Providing you take the strike and inflict maximum damage straight away. When you miss, there is only a bloody mess of flashes, hot searing burns and screams of the dying that will never leave your subconscious.

The metal of a gun makes it cold. Not only physically but it cannot feel. It has the ability to take lives in an instant and never change in realisation. It’s strong, solid and even the insides are a clever mechanism of metallic structures. The gun is a tool. I am their gun.

[Arousal “ For Belle!]

Do you ever think about love at first sight? I thought I did, when I met Pam. And then I did again, when I first held Cameron in my arms. Since Pam, there has never been another woman. Never. But Michael Scofield is something else.

I find myself staring at his photo day in, day out, trying to find the answers in his eyes. I was given the task of finding the message within the tattoo. However, I found myself staring at the sculptures of his body and finding myself in a state of constant, unending arousal. Damn Michael Scofield.


The stupidity of the matter is, I believed them when they said no one would know. I killed those people, for a cause I thought would better my family, but all it does is hinder my life. What is that worth anymore? If it wasn’t for my undying hope to hold my wife in my arms, play ball with my son and retire from the bureau, I would accept the bullet I inevitably have coming.

Hindrance cannot be seen and cannot be defined by one simply thing. It is a million things bound together that hold me in one place.