Uploaded by Flora Huang


Father has gotten into prison again. It’s only the second time. He’s killed a man and was caught
by the police. He’s always been killing. Slaughtering people one after another. He’s always been able to
escape. They’d never find him, only the works he had done.
But he’s stopped it. He’s recognized his terrible ways. He tries to reform himself as a better man.
He smiles, saying that he’s improving. But I know that’s not the truth. I once heard him crying at night.
It’s different this time. He was framed, imprisoned for a murder he had never committed.
Perhaps the officers don’t listen to reason, they only know who has been bad.
Father’s been changing. I thought they would give him a few years before release. Mother says
that he’s been placed on the death row. Apparently, he had killed too many to take back. And this faked
murder was the breaking point.
Mother and I have come to reason with the officials. She’s brought a large suitcase, the contents
unknown to me. The suitcase is in her left hand, my hand in her right. Her heels give off a tapping sound
as we walk through the hall. The sound echoes and only adds to my anxiety. I look at her and she looks
back at me.
“Daddy’s going to be ok,” she smiles.
I nod and look away without a word. She’s lying. Her words only act as a mask to the terrible fate
that awaits us. Is she protecting me? Or perhaps, is she trying to run away from the truth?
Her heels stop tapping and I realize that we’ve stopped at a door.
“Wait here,” Mother says, gesturing to a chair outside the room.
I nod again and do as directed. As she walks inside, I hear a gruff voice, one belonging to a man.
“You again?” He says. Before I can listen in anymore, the door slams shut, muffling the voices.
I wait patiently, forcing myself to hope for the best. The talking in the room turns aggressive.
Someone starts shouting. I hear something slam against a surface. More shouting. But everything is
muffled. I can’t understand. All I can do is sit and wait.