'LIFE'S FULL OF SHARP TURNS'
- A Short Story -
G'day folks,
Here's something different. It's a short story I wrote some years ago. Oddly, when I wrote it, I wasn't communicating with a prisoner on death row. I am now, and have been for sometime.
He’d
almost run out of time. Perched on the edge of his bunk, the prisoner casually
glanced at a silver clock on the wall outside his cell. The big hand had not
moved. He frowned, lay down and refused to look at it again. The authorities
would notify him when it was time. That’s what happened on death row. Resigned
to an unfortunate outcome, he recalled something his father had always said, “Life’s full of sharp turns”.
‘Sharp turns don’t get any sharper when you
sit on death row,’ he muttered, and thought of his young lawyer who’d worked
tirelessly to free him. He’d even sold his home to bankroll the lengthy case and offer the
best defense. However, there were no hard feelings. They’d become good friends. Given
the same circumstances, he’d employ the same lawyer. Even now, he was working
diligently to have his sentence commuted; lodging appeals for clemency to the
Governor.
In the large administration building a few
hundred yards away, stood an older man a year from retirement, having spent
forty years in the prison system. Standing behind his desk, the warden peered
at the quadrangle below; one that provided recreational space for inmates.
Observing the quadrangle was something he’d done countless times before. Today
he felt lonely; for himself and for a man to be executed. For four decades he’d
learned to listen to his gut when it came to people; especially prisoners. His
gut had never let him down. In fact, it had inspired him to read every word of
the court transcripts relating to the prisoner in cell forty-three. His research
had engulfed him, and convinced him of the man’s innocence. Unfortunately the
prisoner’s fate was in the hands of the Governor, a man who’d never commuted a
sentence on death row, rising to power on a tough law and order platform. The
warden sighed. He looked at his watch for the umpteenth time, folded his arms
and said a quiet prayer to anyone who’d listen.
Miles away at a large palatial mansion, two
men were behind closed doors; a promising young lawyer and the State Governor.
After an emotional phone call, the powerful man had finally allowed the lawyer
ten minutes of his time. Outside, two women sat in a beaten-up vehicle, the
lawyer’s young wife and the convicted murderer’s spouse. They’d done all their
talking and sat in silence. It was time to pray. The occupant of cell
forty-three was also praying. He could hear every second tick away, knowing that
the warders would soon arrive to prepare for his execution.
As the Governor stood up to signal the end
of their futile conversation, his telephone rang loudly.
‘Excuse me,’ he said with an irritated
expression. The lawyer sat with his heart in his mouth. His visit had been
fruitless. A passionate plea for leniency had fallen on deaf ears, and the
stresses and strains of the past two years had hit him like a hammer.
Deep-seated pangs of failure and inadequacy overwhelmed him and his temples
throbbed. ‘Hello. Yes, it’s the Governor here. What? Are you sure,
Commissioner?’ Anxiously, the Governor cancelled the call and pressed another
button on the telephone – a red one.
The lawyer glanced at his watch. With
twenty-three minutes to be present at the execution, he sat on the edge of his
seat and buried his head in his hands as tears of despair welled in his eyes.
‘Warden!
It’s the Governor. Abort the
execution! I repeat … Abort the execution,’ he hollered. ‘Yes … He’s
innocent.’ The Governor gently replaced the handset and offered a wry smile
when the lawyer looked up in disbelief.
‘Governor … Did I hear you correctly?’
‘Yes. That was the Police Commissioner.
Another man has confessed to the murder.’
The lawyer raised his eyebrows and
muttered. ‘Jeez.’
A press conference was conducted that
evening; attended by all the networks. The previous occupant of cell
forty-three sat quietly; flanked by his lawyer and his wife, surrounded by a
bank of microphones. Standing at the back of the large crowd was the lawyer’s
emotionally charged wife. Standing alongside her was an older man – the warden.
Neither had ever met. In the warden’s coat pocket were two letters. One, was a
copy of a compassionate letter he’d mailed to the Governor, requesting a stay
of execution for an innocent man on death row. The other, was a personal letter
from his doctor; received that very day. It contained bad news. He had three
months to live. The warden casually tapped his coat-pocket and muttered an
expression he’d heard from an innocent inmate on death row ... ‘Life’s full of sharp turns.’
Clancy's comment: There you go. Hope you enjoyed.
I'm ...
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