Chicago , 1952
Anyone who knew John Joseph Cromwell Sr. knew that he was the most pious, anti-immigration, and most importantly, anti-demon senator that the United States had ever seen in its 176 years of existing. A church-goer for all of his fifty-six years, Cromwell made sure to preach about the evils of demons until his voice grew hoarse. Thirty years back, he was labeled a ‘quack’ and ‘insane.’ Now he was adored by many all over the country.
The last of the leather restraints were fastened onto the patient. He swallowed a thick lump in his throat. Granted, it was just another day of treatment in this hell-hole, but nevertheless he was dreading what was coming. From what he had overheard from the two eldest psychiatrists in his ward, he would be subjected to what they called a “more effective” treatment.
When I was younger, my pop wanted me to take up police work. At parades, I would be perched up on his shoulders with my small finger pointing at the rows of marching men. Crimson and gold uniforms flashed by us. White confetti littered the streets while horns were raised, blaring with fanfare. When the police officers came on through, Pop would say in his deep, but mild German accent, “See them? There goes a bunch of honorable men. You’d do fine in a position like that one day.”
Seventeen years later, I stared down at his bullet ridden corpse with the pistol still smoking in my hand. I wondered if he thought we were so honorable then.
This is the prologue to an old story of mine that I published a few years ago on Wattpad.
“Dead Man Walking.”
His sharp black eyes were quick to catch the sneer of the prison guard just to the right of him. Dan Andrews never had one thing in his life to be proud of, but if he had to think of something then as he walked past the row of occupant prison cells, it was how he could hold his tongue. Although, little things like that wouldn’t matter anymore to his relatives, his friends, or acquaintances; all they’d be talking about now was how Andrews, shy old Andrews, had found himself in the chair for the savage murder of a family.
Back in 2012, I stumbled upon this site called Wattpad. It’s a place where authors can post their original and fictional stories to their heart’s content. Me, who already had like, 20 different writing accounts open on many different sites, decided to add Wattpad to the mix. I filled out my profile and got to work writing.
You’ve done it. You’ve finally graduated from high school and are ready to take that next step in your life: college.
But wait. Your heart is pounding. Your eyes stare uncertainly at your university’s webpage. You see the smiling faces of college students plastered all over the page. Will you be smiling too when you finally go to your college? Nervousness grips you tightly. What if you’re not? What then?