Murder. That was the charge. Martyr. That’s what I am. A martyr to anyone who knows the system fails.

“Last words?” they ask.

I remain silent as they drape a hood over my head and I begin the journey into infinite darkness.

The darkness gives rise to visions of my “victims.” Victim. It was the wrong label for these people.

I’m not sorry for the sins I’ve committed. I don’t ask for absolution from those that sentenced me. A pardon wouldn’t change anything. Without my family, I’m dead.

My evening meal is stirring in my stomach as my will fights to relax my tense muscles.

Across the room, behind a plate of glass sits four people. We’ve lost everything! they sobbed in court.

The jury believed they were victims. I disagree.

The victims were my family. It didn’t matter though. They had enough money and power to walk away unscathed. I never committed murder. I gave penance.

Those people through the glass think they’ll receive vindication. They’ve come to see a murderer put to death so they can “move on.”

My lips curl into a smile. There is no vindication; no end to the pain. They’ll feel what I felt as I watched my wife and child’s body lowered into the ground.

For ten years I have sat in a cell, reliving in my mind the night of the “accident.”

The Blazer running the red light. The symphony of broken glass and twisting metal.

I got a bump on my head. My little girl died on the sidewalk. My wife, in the passenger seat.

The driver of the Blazer was fine. He was better than fine. He was alive. He was also rich.

The driver was charged with reckless driving and involuntary manslaughter.

His rich corporate daddy immediately made a philanthropic gesture. His son got probation and a two year revocation of his driver’s license. Not enough.

He’s dead now, as are his three friends who sat at the crowded restaurant with him where I found them, laughing and enjoying life. I hadn’t laughed in over a year.

A bit of regret hung over the death of his friends. They were guilty by association.

The room is silent now. The cap is lowered onto my head and I can feel a wet sponge soaking through the hood.

Footsteps travel to my left. There is a moment of searing pain and the smell of burning flesh enters my nostrils. Then…