The Procyk Forfeit, Volume One
Eighteen years ago, someone told me I would die for what I’d done. Since then, I’ve been given three meals a day. The temperature in here has never shifted far from sixty-eight degrees. Every mild cough I’ve had has been thoroughly examined and treated. And no one has ever laid a hand against me. Far as I know, there’s never been any talk of a trial. If I have the right to an attorney, I haven’t been told. I just keep on living. Keep on reliving. Thinking about it all.
Eighteen years of this, I’ve come to one conclusion.
I didn’t murder them. I didn’t. Yes, sure, I killed them. I admit that.
No. I saved them.
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