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Death Penalty Not on My BehalfDeath Penalty: Not on My Behalf
"They're going to kill him because he killed somebody, so when they kill him, who do we get to kill?" (Amnesty International)
One day, I returned home to my dorm room in Maine to find the light blinking on my answering machine. It was a frantic message from my parents, who were in Japan, telling me they had received a call from the Police Department in Denver, Colorado, telling them that my brother had been murdered. I quickly called my parents and noted down the contact number they had received. I then called the Denver Police Department.
The murderer had already been caught. He was a homeless, and drunk at the time; apparently, he had been denied service at my brother's workplace before because of his drinking habits, and took it a little too personally. He had staked out my brother's apartment for days, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. My brother had received a call from the clinic that day, and was leaving
HappinessHe sat alone on the couch in his living room, staring at some stupid show on TV with actors who barely deserve the title, a bottle of beer left forgotten on the table, long turned lukewarm with the heat from the fan in the side of the laptop he had absentmindedly set the bottle down next to almost an hour ago. He didn't even like booze. Didn't understand why anybody would want to muddy one's mind - after all, nobody spins in office chairs to voluntarily induce vertigo, fuzzy vision, and the urge to vomit. He hadn't showered in two days, and even in a T-shirt and shorts, his hair was flattened with grease and his nose and forehead were shiny and oily from dried sweat. The stubble on his face wasn't stubble anymore, it was about to start grade school.
Tomorrow was Monday. He'd get up around eight, take a shower, take care of his facial hair, shampoo his hair, hold his breath and lather his face. He hated soap on his face;
Nine TimesI saw him nine times.
The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.
I tested out of the class.
I don’t know if he did.
The second time I saw him, it was a few months after I arrived on campus. He was the one rushing and frantic this time, running across the square. He was probably late for class, though I had no way of knowing for sure. I was already lost in my own thoughts and ideas, deciding on my major and convincing people that yes, this is what I really want to do with my life. If they weren
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