The droplet of sweat trickled gradually down my face as my hands were shackled to the chair. My legs were swung around brutally and clamped down tight. The warden then proceeded to consign the electrode onto my fearful head. Each person left the room and I was left in the frosty, lifeless silence thinking about my impending demise.
My name was […is] George Newland. I was born in 1972 on a little dairy farm in Texas, USA. I don't dispute the reality that I had a tough childhood, but rather the life that followed my hard upbringing. At the age of eight my family fell into disorder. My father had been in the armed service and had tragically fallen victim to one of the countless enemies the world seems to be able to conjure up each decade.
The day we received the grim news was one of the worst in my entire life; until you have been through the tribulation yourself of losing a parent then you have no idea of the suffering, pain and anguish it causes.
My two young brothers and I watched helplessly as mum withdrew to the cold-comfort of a Vodka bottle. Childhood games of cubby houses and role-playing became real. I was "father" in a family as easily broken as the bottles that mum smashed in the fireplace. The day she took her life was sunny, with spring breezes whispering no premonition of the scene unfolding on the lounge room floor. Sleeping pills lay strewn like clover, sun rays glistened off the shards of glass from last nights Vodka bottles, and centre stage she lay crumpled, deaths child at last.
School had been one of those routines that give a structure on which you build the best education- time with your mates. I had lost my Father, what was left of my mother and now I had lost my friends. Nevertheless I held myself and my brothers together. Although we had no money I felt as though we were becoming family again. My hope slowly returned as, after all, you can only go halfway into the darkest forest; then you are coming out the other side,
Regrettably this was not the case. At the age of 23 I found myself incapable of getting any work. My siblings had taken to sleeping in the park, and as I pulled a tattered, aged blanket and newspapers over my brothers, I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and sorrow that I had let them down.
In the months following this I became involved with a crowd that was quite wealthy, despite having a similar background to me and no job. Unenthusiastically I asked them how they rescued their lives and they abruptly replied: "Smuggling dope". I was astonished. How could the do a thing like that?
Over time I got to know these people and came to the realisation that they weren't bad people at all, they had simply done what was necessary to survive in this crazy world. I became their disciple and found myself illegally trafficking drugs from America to Indonesia. Untill.Untill I got caught that is.
I lingered in a cell much like that of my youth- stale smells, empty eyes looking for the present in a world without past or future. Despite months of appeals and hearings, the judge would not overturn the decision. Mandatory death. No one will ever understand what it is like to spend your final days on earth alone. I, too, had failed my brothers.
Suddenly I awake to the lock on my cell door opening; the guards entered and dragged me up off the icy stone floor. I was led down the hallway to the execution room. It's not the death that kills the man, it's the wait. Terror and the shuffle of my own footsteps enveloped me.
The droplet of sweat trickled gradually down my face as my hands were shackled to the chair. My legs were swung around brutally and clamped down tight. The warden then proceeded to consign the electrode onto my fearful head. Each person left the room and I was left in the frosty, lifeless silence thinking about my impending demise. I was about to partake on a journey to the last final undiscovered place- death. With a tear streaming down my face, I looked over at the guard as he pulled the switch.