Prologue 1: A Death Row Inmate’s Last Words

Prologue 1: A Death Row Inmate’s Last Words

Looking back on my life, I would say that I belong to the relatively unhappy category.

Of course, there have been many instances when I felt content and joyful. There were numerous precious memories that shone like jewels in my mind.

Yet, the harsh truth remains that I have spent more time lamenting my misfortune than experiencing happiness in my 25 years of life.

Despite being born into an average middle-class family, my parents passed away before I was old enough to understand anything. Subsequently, my care was entrusted to my uncle and aunt, but their treatment towards me fell short of kindness and care.

My uncle and his wife had a son who was one year older than me, making him my cousin. Although it may sound impolite to say, he was not particularly exceptional in both academics and sports, while I was proud to have a moderate level of proficiency in both areas, if I may say so myself.

Perhaps not pleased with this, my uncle would frequently beat me, and my aunt would criticize me relentlessly. At the time, I believed it was just the norm, but looking back objectively, it was undoubtedly a form of abuse.

Out of concern for their reputation, they allowed me to graduate from high school but then forced me to leave and work in a factory with dorms owned by a household appliance manufacturer. I worked diligently, got along well with others, and quickly learned the job. Even my seniors praised my performance.

One of my seniors took a liking to me and introduced me to his sister. Until then, I had not met a woman in whom I was strongly interested in forming a relationship with, but I was attracted to her good nature and calm demeanor, and we started going out shortly after.

Once they confessed, I provided first aid for their wounds before using my bare hands to strangle them to death. This was to ensure that they suffered the same way my loved one did, through asphyxiation caused by strangulation. All the men in the group begged for mercy, but their pleas fell on deaf ears since my heart had become cold and indifferent.

After carrying out my revenge, I uploaded the confession videos of the group to various video-sharing sites and turned myself in to the police. I didn’t do this out of remorse for taking lives, but as a form of irony towards those who were able to escape punishment by exploiting legal loopholes. I knew I had to face the consequences of breaking the law since I had committed crimes punishable by law.

During the trial, I was sentenced to death as I had killed six people, which was justifiable. I accepted my fate and became a prisoner awaiting my execution.

Various individuals have visited me for a meeting since I became a death row inmate, including activists against the death penalty, journalists who wanted to write articles about me, psychologists who were interested in my mental state, and lawyers who suggested appealing for a retrial.

Regardless of their intentions, I have tried to respond to them with sincerity as much as possible. Even if society may label me as insane, I wanted them to know that I had my own philosophy and some room for reasoning about things.

My execution was scheduled for tomorrow, and it seemed that the time from the verdict to the execution was to be the shortest in history. Although I could probably guess the reason, to be honest, it didn’t matter now that the end of my existence was looming in front of me. What I felt in my heart right now was major relief.

Looking back, my heart had always been thirsty. From my upbringing, I grew up with little to no affection given to me. When I met her and learned what love was, for the first time in my life, the thirst in my heart was quenched. But after losing her, my heart once again became parched. No, it should be said that the pain of a thirsty heart grew even more severe after experiencing full happiness through her.

I was to die the next day as punishment for my own sins. However, for me, who was at the time crushed by a sense of emptiness and longing, death was nothing but a relief. In that case, could it even be called punishment?

As a sinner, I knew that I deserved to be punished by someone. If an afterlife existed, I was undoubtedly going to fall into hell. I hoped that a fair punishment would await me there.