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Banging my cup against the bars of my cell struck me as useless at first.  After a couple of months here though, I began to understand.  Up and down this row, every one of us, we’ve got too much time with nothing to do.  Sometimes you just need do something so you can think straight.  I’ve had a lot of time to figure things out here, things I’ve done, things about to be done to me.  I’ve come to some conclusions.
The first thing I discovered is there is no murder.  There’s no right, no wrong, only choices.  I didn’t always think like that; hell, I even protested abortion and the death penalty when I was in college.  Sometimes the irony of that makes me laugh.  I know better now though.  The wheel turns and every convict, baby and professor will die someday with or without the state, the doctors and me.  We’re just making room for the next person in line.  Death is just the next step: Who cares if someone gets there a little earlier than expected?  There is no murder.  War, self-defense, cold blood, it’s all the same.  When one person dies at the hands of another, it’s just another kind of death.  If someone dies of disease, we don’t rage against the germs.  We don’t lock the germs up in little cells and kill them in the name of justice.  A biologist would tell you that we need the population control of disease and war and famine.  I’m just a part of the plan.  I bet the pilots that bombed Japan weren’t put on Death Row for pushing that button, for killing those people.  I learned here that a .38 Special is no different than an atomic bomb: Dead is dead, and I only killed one, they killed so many and were heroes.  What’s the difference?  Murder is bad, murder is good; it’s all in your head.  There’s only choices, and mine lead me here.  I know when this cup stops banging against the bars it’s because my time is up.  I’ll sit in a chair and get a little injection and die.  Do you know what the difference between my needle and the professor’s .38 is?

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