DEATH ROW DAY 1

Itching. Everything is itching, itching, itching. Bugs. Can't get rid of the bugs skittering, skittering, skittering on my skin. Fingers. The faint caress of phantom fingers, fingers, fingers.

I need a hit.

I need a drink.

I need something.

Anything.

Shivering, shivering, shivering in my cell. My dark desolate cell. It's been so long since I've spent a night alone. Tonight, nobody is paying for my company. Tonight, I would pay for somebody's company. When was the last time someone checked on me? Someone who wasn't paid to check on me?

What's that pounding? Is that in my head? No? The door?

Someone at the door? Who's at the door?

"Anthony," a disembodied voice calls out.

When was the last time someone called me Anthony?

"Anthony," she says. "How are you doing?"

"How the FUCK do you think I'm doing?" I roll over in bed. The blonde is back. I like the blonde. I shouldn't be so mean to the blonde.

The blonde enters the room. The blonde sits next to me. She's touching my arm gently. Her touch is solid. Realer than the others. The blonde is real. The blonde is here. Every other touch is a memory. How many hands have touched me? How many times have I actually wanted them to?

"Anthony," she says again. "I know it's hard to be here. Hospice care isn't forever. We'll try to make you as comfortable as we can."

"Comfortable? You want me to be fucking comfortable? How about giving me a little morphine? Some oxy? What the fuck do you know about keeping addicts comfortable?"

The blonde withdraws her hand.

Now we're both uncomfortable.

I really should stop calling her the blonde.

What was her name? She has a name, right?

"I can't entertain your vices, but I can be a friend to you when you need it. Dying isn't easy, but at least you won't be alone."

"Listen here, Doc—"

"Charlie. You can call me Charlie."

"Listen here, Charlie. Why do you care what happens to me? Why won't you just let me kill myself in peace? At least when I'm dead I'll be gone. I won't have to think anymore. I won't have to be anyone anymore. I won't have to do anyone anymore."

"Is that what you think? That your existence just ENDS?"

"If I prayed for anything it would be that."

"Is it so impossible to imagine a better life?"

"Even if there WAS an afterlife, what makes you think I could get into Heaven? I'm an addict. A whore. A selfish fucking sinner. Heaven would never have me."

"You're not dead yet. There's still time to change."

"I thought you were a doctor, not a nun."

Charlie snorts. "Trust me," she says. "I'm no fucking nun. But Anthony, I really mean it. I really do believe anyone can change—including you. You can choose to be better. You can choose to change."

"Easy to say when you're stuck in this fucking place. I'm not stupid. I don't have any real choices here. I couldn't even get fucking dope if I fucking wanted to. In here it's easy to be good. Out there—out there is the real fucking challenge."

"Actually marijuana IS legal in this state. Everything's legal in New Jersey. Hamilton taught me that one. All the slaveowners are in Hell."

"What?"

"Oh, uh, never mind. Forget I mentioned it."

"You're a weird one, you know. You talk about Heaven and Hell like you've been there."

"And what would you say if I have?"

"I'd say you're fucking nuts just like the rest of us."

"Who knows? Maybe I am nuts but if I ever had the chance to live in Heaven, I'd take it."

"Do you think you'll go to Heaven when you die?"

"No, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't try to be a good person. Whatever's happened in the past, I have to believe the future can be better."