Writing Feedback / Creative Essay of Death Row -- Mice Don't Talk [2]

--English essay about a process--

How do you feel about the thought of your death? Now how would you feel about knowing when you will die and you are completely powerless about it? Now consider the psychological torture you would go through awaiting certain death in painstakingly uncomfortable isolation 23 hours a day for up to 20 years. A scheduled death, popularly known as a death penalty, is the most psychologically traumatizing event that anyone can go through.

The first step is the death sentence. You have made one mistake, a mistake that you can never go back to fix. You don't know what went wrong, what happened, but that doesn't matter now. It is judgment time, but not by the hand of God, rather, by the hand of a human dressed in professional attire and a wooden hammer. There is no turning back; you're in front of court, surrounded by many people, police, jurors, and officials. The judge raises his hammer, you hold your breath and cross your finger, but the hammer has proclaimed certain death. You try to hold your composure as your whole life is suddenly down in spiral, utterly hopeless and ever so diminishing.

They then move you with a prison truck to your prison. It's raining, the sky is crying, and so are you. A little mouse flees for shelter, you realize the truck is your ride to death and shivers runs down your spine. Your family is gone, your friends are gone, and so is your hope of life. All you can do is await death. Never have you felt so hopeless and weak. The shackles are tight on your hands, your life tied down to ever so cold, and heartless metal. The truck stops, the door opens, but in reality, the doors have been closed on your life. You walk to your cell, they close metal doors behind you; you're enclosed, and trapped till your death like a caged mouse. Or so you would wish, because in fact unlike the mouse, your brain has immensely complex emotions while the mouse's brain can't even make out the meaning of these cold bars. They can't feel the loss of family as we do, the loss of freedom, and the loss of hope!

A few minutes pass by; you try and reassure yourself and say "Hey, this isn't so bad." Some minute pass by and you start feeling uncomfortable. More minutes slowly wander by, you try to occupy yourself, but there is nothing to do but stare at sad gray walls. You think it might be time for bed and pick up your arm to look at the time but then notice just bare skin on your wrist. The jail guard happens to walk by; he laughs and says, 22 more hours to go till day one is over. You gulp what remaining saliva you have. Twenty three hours of isolation a day, one hour of activity is allowed. But it only makes sense; after all, captive mice must have their daily exercise in order to live. You are their mouse now under the hands of man. But they take care of you; they make sure you live to die. They feed you twice a day, they shower you, and they make sure you get your hour a day exercise. What more hospitability can you ask for? Very poor ventilation, small cramped rooms, no objects of interest, complete 23 hour period of isolation, poor lighting that never shuts even while you sleep, and uncomfortable beds and sheets are no big deal and completely human in thought. They give you what you need in order to live for your awaited certain death. And that is all you can do, wait for your death.

It has been twenty grueling, excruciating, mind numbingly boring and long years; you have constant anxiety every day. Any day could be the day of your death. You wish they would tell you when you will die, but they know better, mice don't talk.

--Not done--

Due tomorrow.