The inside was dark. I could just make out the outline of the chair and the restraints and the window with the sliding curtain before the guard shut the door. It took a lot of pleading to get him to show it to me, but guards here pretty are indulgent if you're reasonable. All things considered, it's not an unreasonable request to want to see the place where you will die soon. It was years once, then months, now weeks. It will be days soon. I haven't started counting in hours yet, but I know I will.
I am not particularly afraid, at least not paralyzed by fear, but it is always on my mind. A priest came to "help me prepare myself" and "make my peace with God." I really have no use for God. Anybody who's supposed to be all-powerful but lets doddering old priests and fat, loudmouth reverends speak on his behalf doesn't particularly impress me. Anybody who could ease the burdens of all the people trapped inside the bubble of suffering that is this world—yet chooses not to and refuses to even give his reasons—has no right to sit in judgement of me. To hell with God.
Though, one thing the priest said stuck with me.
