“We’ll get you out” My wife says

“I miss you daddy” My daughter says.

“We’ll get it next time “ My lawyer says.

“There won’t be a next time” My cellmate tells me.

Believe me he’s tried damn hard. He’s tried every trick in the book but now there’s no money and no one wants to try anymore.

“We’ll do it ourselves” he says, with a dead serious look in his eye. He has the plan, he knows a man, you hear it all over the yard as soon as the guards are out of earshot. Last man who tried made it 10 yards before sniper shot him through the heart. He fell to the ground and started to crawl so they shot him again but they missed. As his guts spilled out around him and fluids you’re not supposed to see spilled around him and coursed through him the men looked at each other in despair. If you can’t do it yourself no one can.

Still the man moved but he soon slowed and the only movement was his one last twitch. The gunman took this as another attempt and shot him again. This time he hit the target. The man’s head splits open and there’s no more movement. Only blood slipping down the gutter, Desperation is the worst trait in a man.

This I tell my cellmate is what will happen to him if he tries. He doesn’t care he says and regurgitates the same old hope in hushed tones as I lie in my dark cold bed and dream of Italy.

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Author guidance for This story

Hey guys, hope you've liked what you read so far. I agree there will be some errors but I'm a terrible editor. Silent Truth, Silent Hope. Is written from the wife's perspective as a sort of preface and everything from The Breakfast Club of Rome onwards is from our nameless protagonist. These were originally a couple of short stories I wrote a while ago and I never felt the need to conclude. So you guys (and gals) can take it whichever you want to from here.

updated May 13 '09 by ChristopherSharpe