One More Day

One more day and my life will end. One more day and I will have paid for my crimes. One more day and... and what? I don't know. How did I come this far? When did my life take that one gruesome turn?1

I feel the fear crawl up from my stomach to my throat, where it slowly squeezes it tight until I can hardly breathe. My head feels light and I cannot concentrate. Never before have I been so scared. Memories push themselves forward from my subconscious. I don't want them! They are too painful. There must have been a time when I was still happy and innocent. When was that? It seems a lifetime ago.2

I remember playing in the park with my little sister, picking daisies for Mom. I still see her loving smile and feel her gentle kiss on my cheek. Why Mom? Why did you go and leave us behind? Why did you have to meet with God? Was I not your little Angel? Was I not your first born and in desperate need of your tender love and care? And why, Daddy, why did you come to our bedroom? I was only trying to take over Mom's place - trying to give you some of the love you missed so terribly... but not that kind of love. I was too young and didn't understand a parent should not love his child this way! I really thought it was the normal thing to do. I didn't like it when you hurt me, but my Daddy loved me and I was proud of it.3

I endured the pain of your physical loving and was a happy little girl until I heard the screams of my little sister one night. Why, Daddy? Why wasn't I enough? I took care of you and gave you everything you needed. Why did you have to teach me jealousy and hate? Yes, I hated you for hurting my little sister, but I hated my little sister for taking you away from me. I used every little trick I could think of to get you back, and that's when my first crime started.4

Amy started to have all sorts of little accidents and I always made sure to convince you they truly were accidents and Amy was no more than a clumsy child. A hot cup of tea - a sharp knife, it was all too easy, until one day I miscalculated the risk involved. I only wanted her to fall down the stairs and break an arm or a leg, and never thought she would break her neck.5

We were devastated, and once more we grieved. Although I hated my sister for taking my Dad away from me, I loved her dearly. She was like my own child to me. I never meant to hurt you like this, little sister. I only wanted to be loved again.6

You grieved, Dad. You grieved beyond any measure for the loss of your youngest, but once more you needed me to take care of you and I was happy - happy to be needed again - happy to take care of you – happy to be loved by you. It also meant that the physical pain returned, but I endured it and even welcomed the pain, because I knew it was all part of being loved and in the end I even got used to the pain.7

Everything could have stayed the same for many years if not for the fact I noticed that one month I didn't have my period. Was I pregnant? Could this be? I was thrilled! This would be my gift to you. A new little Amy! I was so excited. Life would be more than complete again.8

I hid my pregnancy from you. I wanted to surprise you when this child was almost ready to be born. In the meantime I cherished this child as a treasure and I'd never felt this happy in my entire life. What did I know about life? I was only fourteen.9

You broke my heart when you discovered I was pregnant and made me give up the baby for adoption. I loved this child with everything in me and you made me give it away. After giving birth and never seeing my baby, they told me it was a girl, I felt hollow and could not return to you, Dad. You'd hurt me too much and I no longer felt loved by you. I gathered my things and disappeared into the night. I haven't seen, or heard from, you since then.10

I disappeared that night with nothing more than the clothes I was wearing and some personal belongings. I had no money and as I needed a place to sleep and a bite to eat, I did the one thing I had learned very well. I knew how to please men and this time I got paid for it - paid to please, and feel loved and needed for a little while.11

That's how I met you Tony, a passionate half-Italian client with only one small failing. You drank too much. Of course that was no problem. I was needed and being needed also meant I was loved. I enjoyed your company most of the time, except when you drank too much and showed your love with your fist, although you always made up in the morning, with apologies and tears. Then I felt even more needed. Of course I could handle this situation. You needed me and I needed the feeling of being needed. It seemed it had become my priority to be able to live.12

When I became pregnant you were the sweetest man on earth, and when Amy was born, (yes another girl and there was never any doubt her name would be Amy) you were thrilled at first. What happened Tony? What happened that caused the change in you? Why did you start hurting this little girl? You needed me, but she needed me more and God forgive me for picking up the hammer and smashing your brain when you put out your cigarette on her little arm. Even today I do not regret saving my little girl from your torture.13

I remember that the police came and tried to take Amy away from me. Something happened to me. Nobody, nobody could take Amy away from me! Not again! How did this knife end up in my hand? Where did all this blood come from? Why were there two people laying still on the floor? I have no memory of what happened, only that they managed to get you away from me. My little Amy, my precious little Amy.14

Here I am on death row and only hours away from my execution. After 5 years of waiting for this moment, I welcome death. I no longer feel the need to be loved, nor to love, except for my two girls. I shall never see or hold them. I shall never see their smiles or hear their voices. I'll never feel their wet kisses on my cheek and I'll never hear them say "Mommy, I love you." I do not know if they have good lives. Nobody wishes to give me any information on the whereabouts and the well being of my daughters. It doesn't matter anymore. Soon my life will end.15

Here I am in my cell, with nothing more than a lock of hair from my little sister, nothing from my firstborn, and a photograph from my youngest. I am tired. Tired of living my life, tired of loving, and it's time. It's time to pay for my crimes and time to find peace inside. Soon there will be darkness and with the darkness oblivion. Finally I will find peace and nobody will know it. No one will remember me, as if I were never there. It is OK. I am done with life. I am ready. What do I know about life? I am only twenty-five.16