Room 608
One
My name is Joshua Farro and I have been waiting on Death Row for exactly seven hundered and forty two days, nineteen hours and eleven minutes for a crime that I did not commit.
On the fifteenth of March 2007, senate member Edward Gray was murdered after being shot in the head once with a .357 Magnum cartridge fired from a Colt Python model gun, a Bright Nickel colouring to be exact. They identified all of these things when the bullet was removed from his temple during his autopsy.
Edward Gray was a well loved politician, paticuarly by the younger members of the voting public. There was mass uproar when his assasination was heard of, which included myself. I had voted for him on more than one occasion. It came as a shock when I was arrested for the same crime that had so upset me.
"I don't own a gun!" I had protested to no avail, but one was found in my possesion, locked away in the top draw of a writing desk in my attic. I had no idea how one such weapon had come to be there, unless it had belonged to my father. Still, that didn't save me. All they needed now was a motive; they didn't have to look far.
I suffered from the Jekyll Brainwave. A horrible, mental illness for which there was no hope of curing at this stage in my life. I was lunatic, the perfect motive for me to shoot him. They said I heard voices and that I was a danger to the public.
That wouldn't have been enough for a judge, but my finger prints were found on the bullet and on the rooftop on which the shooter had perched. This was no case of mistaken identity. I had been framed.
I have no right to appeal, and in three days they're going to kill me. My hand is unsteady as I write, and the words almost illegible, but it does not matter, so long as the truth is told. This is the account of my time spent at the Merry Weather institute, and if I did indeed commit the crime (for I can no longer be sure that I did not), perhaps the reason behind it...
On the fifteenth of March 2007, senate member Edward Gray was murdered after being shot in the head once with a .357 Magnum cartridge fired from a Colt Python model gun, a Bright Nickel colouring to be exact. They identified all of these things when the bullet was removed from his temple during his autopsy.
Edward Gray was a well loved politician, paticuarly by the younger members of the voting public. There was mass uproar when his assasination was heard of, which included myself. I had voted for him on more than one occasion. It came as a shock when I was arrested for the same crime that had so upset me.
"I don't own a gun!" I had protested to no avail, but one was found in my possesion, locked away in the top draw of a writing desk in my attic. I had no idea how one such weapon had come to be there, unless it had belonged to my father. Still, that didn't save me. All they needed now was a motive; they didn't have to look far.
I suffered from the Jekyll Brainwave. A horrible, mental illness for which there was no hope of curing at this stage in my life. I was lunatic, the perfect motive for me to shoot him. They said I heard voices and that I was a danger to the public.
That wouldn't have been enough for a judge, but my finger prints were found on the bullet and on the rooftop on which the shooter had perched. This was no case of mistaken identity. I had been framed.
I have no right to appeal, and in three days they're going to kill me. My hand is unsteady as I write, and the words almost illegible, but it does not matter, so long as the truth is told. This is the account of my time spent at the Merry Weather institute, and if I did indeed commit the crime (for I can no longer be sure that I did not), perhaps the reason behind it...