Microstory 2158: No Such Thing as Extra

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I did more volunteer work today. After the storm, a bunch of people came together to help with the cleanup effort. This isn’t any sort of official organization. There’s a special social media app that they’re all on, where people can stay connected to each other based on proximity, rather than other reasons, like mutual interests. I only heard about it from my next door neighbor, because I’m not on the app, so I wasn’t a part of it from the beginning. They’ve done this sort of thing before, when there have been other issues. I picked up and broke down a lot of fallen limbs, which was not fun, but I did feel like I was getting a lot of important work done for people who were unable to do it for themselves. Working from home makes it a lot easier for me to just do stuff like this, and not everyone’s life is like that. Like I said, it wasn’t a real charitable organization, so I didn’t think that anyone could sign my community service log. So I just wasn’t going to bother, because I only did it for the one day, and I figured that it was just more of a rounding error. Apparently, that doesn’t matter for people in my position. When you’ve been sentenced to CS, there is no such thing as “extra” until that sentence has been completed, and then you’re free to choose whatever service work you choose, just like you can as a normal person. Don’t worry, though. I didn’t get in any trouble, or anything, but my parole officer is certain that he told me this before, and he’s probably right. That’s the thing about me. If someone claims that I should have known something, or that something happened in the past, I often kind of just have to believe them, because I can’t trust my own memory. Anyway, it’s fine; no harm done. I could never understand the legal ramifications, but essentially, I’m required to record it every time I volunteer my time or effort for anything more than holding the door open for someone. That’s okay. A thousand hours is the minimum, not the maximum. I think that this is all meant to get people used to the practice of giving back to the community, not just to punish them. But far be it for me to explain the judge’s intentions. That’s why they sit in that raised chair, and I’m over here. Ugh, I’m getting too philosophical. All I’m trying to tell you is that you don’t have to have a reason to help other people. You don’t have to be a convicted criminal, or a juvenile delinquent. This world is better for all of us when we all try to be better for it. That’s all I have for you today. Stay frosty, and keep shakin’ that bush.

Microstory 1990: True to One’s Word

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Freeman 1: Hey, thanks for meeting me, man.

Reese: Yeah, no problem. It’s been a long time. What’s up?

Freeman 1: Well, this is sort of awkward.

Reese: Go ahead, dude. No judgments.

Freeman 1: Well, it’s just that...a few months ago, you became bonded to our group of freemen, and that was great. I mean, we don’t regret it. But since then, you haven’t really, ya know, fulfilled your obligations, you know? Like, we helped you find that escapee, and then you and Myka just disappeared. You changed your number?

Reese: Yeah, it was this legal thing. We’ve all kind of had to leave our old lives behind. I’m really sorry, though; that wasn’t cool.

Freeman 1: What exactly have you been up to? A few of the other freewomen are gone too, but they’re not dead; they still see their families. Honestly, we are all kind of worried about you, but you don’t look dead either.

Reese: You’re right, I screwed up. Uhh...I can’t tell you what we’ve been doing. We got in trouble with the government, so we’re working on that.

Freeman 1: You look free to me.

Reese: Different kind of trouble. Mixed up with them is probably a better way to put it.

Freeman 1: I see.

Reese: But I’m here now. Let’s bump phones so you can have my new number. Do you need anything today?

Freeman 1: *scratching the back of his neck* Actually we do. Well, I do.

Reese: Remember, I can’t do anything illegal for ya. Though, I think I may be able to skirt the rules for you now. I’m kind of in a better position than I was before. It’s all really complicated and weird.

Freeman 1: I’m glad to hear you say that, because it’s definitely on the outskirts.

Reese: Just ask, friend.

Freeman 1: I’m trying to buy a house. I...I got a girl pregnant, and I have to provide for them. The only job I could get pays pretty well, but it’s all under the table. That makes applying for a loan pretty difficult. I would get a different job, but no one wants to hire an ex-con, especially one who was locked up for aggravated assault and armed robbery. Big surprise, I know. I have a connection at the bank, but even he won’t just give me the loan outright. *pauses again*

Reese: What does he need?

Freeman 1: Look, I don’t know what you’re doing, but by mixed up with the government, it’s pretty clear you’re saying that you’re employed by them, in some different capacity than before. You don’t have to tell me what it is, but it would really help me out if you could pose as my employer. Just say I bring you coffee or dry-cleaning, that would be enough. It just has to be from a reputable company. I dunno, is this even possible?

Reese: What do you do for a living? Are you fulfilled? Are you being exploited?

Freeman 1: Courier work. No. And probably.

Reese: Let me make a call. Let’s not fake a job. Let’s get you a real one.

Microstory 1818: Grandfather Death

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About a year ago, the papers and the public began to call me Grandfather Death. Capital punishment has been abolished in every country in the developed world, and much of the developing world as well. Mine was the last holdout, and I fall into a special category. You see, my trial was going on at about the same time as the law was being debated, so once they finally settled on abolishment, they realized that I was in a bit of a gray area. Two others were executed once the new law was passed, but before it went into effect. No others were on death row with us at the time, so there was a question as to whether I should be grandfathered into the old law, or placed back in the normal prison system to carry out a life sentence. Being grandfathered into a prior law is often a good thing, like back in the day when I could drive a car at the age of 15 even after they suddenly upped the minimum age from 14 to 16. This time, it’s not so good, and the whole thing was all really complicated and over my head. Because of the way the proceedings happened, I didn’t technically have a life sentence. I was sentenced to death, so there was nothing for them to fall back on. It was a weird loophole that everyone missed, and as much as it would benefit me to go free, it was honestly a huge mistake that never should have occurred. They considered retrying me, and reconvicting me, so they could do it right this time, but I think there was a legal precedent issue with that. It was just easier if they went ahead with the plan, and assured the public that this would be the very last execution ever. There were a lot of protests that I remember seeing outside my window. That was a concession, I guess, or a consolation prize. Death row was built underground, but they moved me to luxury accommodations for the last several months of my life. I’m not using that word sarcastically either. I would have killed to live in a place like that before I went to prison, it was so nice. Even for white collar criminals, this seems like far too much creature comfort. Why does it exist at all?

I’m not going to lie here and try to tell you that I don’t belong in this room, with these straps around my body, and this needle in my arm. I did what they said I did, and I would do it again. People sometimes ask me if I truly had to beat him as hard as I did, and like, that was the whole point. I wasn’t actually trying to kill him; that was just what happened to him in the end, because he couldn’t survive his injuries. My intent was for him to feel pain like all his victims did. He got in trouble for taking people’s money, but he didn’t suffer. Meanwhile hundreds of families were still destitute, and unable to believe in the concept of justice. I had to right that wrong, and I have no regrets. I made no attempt to conceal my actions, and when the police came, I did not resist. I knew that things could get this bad for me, because that man had a lot of loyalists that were holding onto a lot of strings. But he finally suffered, and that’s what matters, even if it means I go down too. Because, you see, even though he had people honorbound to him because of how much money he made them, I’m the one with fans. I’m the one with a following. I’m not just talking about the victims and their families either, but people who agree with my solution, and only wish they could have done it themselves. That’s what I gave them; peace of mind that he can’t hurt anyone anymore, and that they aren’t responsible for stopping him. I’m sacrificing myself so that they can get on with their lives. Yes, I lie on this table fully at peace—smiling, even—because today...I die a martyr.

Microstory 1810: Justice Delayed

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I’m a killer. It’s not something that I wanted to be. When someone would ask me what I wanted to do when I grew up, I didn’t tell them that I was hoping to one day become a murderer, and almost get away with it. I never wanted it to happen, but it did, and I figured there was no point fretting over it. I couldn’t change the past, but I could move on with my life, and try to do some good with it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy. You see, the woman I killed—and I won’t tell you why I did it, because it doesn’t matter anymore—had recently experienced relations with a man. That’s why not I killed her, before you get any ideas about jealousy. His connection to her was the only lead the cops had when they were running their investigation, and instead of looking into the truth, they just selected him as their one and only suspect. I’m not a cop. It’s not my job to confess to the crime I committed. I decided that I would let this play out, and accept my fate, whatever that was going to be. I wasn’t going to actively impede their investigation, but I wasn’t going to go out of my way to help them either. Even after the wrong man was convicted, I convinced myself that it wasn’t my fault. Again, it’s not my responsibility to put bad guys away, and leave the innocent alone. They screwed up, and it was all their fault. At least, that’s what I told myself. Subconsciously, I was a wreck. I already felt guilty about the murder itself, but now I had to contend with the fact that an innocent man was behind bars. I could not live with myself. It just kept getting worse by the day. I honestly believe I would have eventually turned myself in.

The wrongfully accused didn’t stop fighting. He insisted that he wasn’t even in the country at the time, and continued trying to prove his alibi. This was great, I thought; he was gonna go free, and they still had no evidence against me. It would turn into a cold case, and the whole thing would just go away on its own. That’s not what happened. They reopened the case, looked deeper into the clues, and finally found me. It’s actually what got that guy out of prison. They wouldn’t let him go until they knew who the perpetrator was, which I recognize is a ridiculous idea, and all those people should be fired for incompetence. I did as I promised, and accepted my punishment. They arrested me, put me through trial, and threw me in prison. I wasn’t in there long before I died, and that’s where things get interesting. What I haven’t told you is that I am voldisil. I have the ability to form profound connections with others. My cat is 34 years old (older than me), because I linked her to my lifeforce 21 years ago. She can’t die until I do, and neither can the man I let rot in prison for four months...unless something unavoidable happens to him. After I was imprisoned, he came to visit me, hoping to get some closure. I was moved by his words, and decided to give him a gift. He was in his late forties, which means he was maybe about halfway done with his life. In contrast, I was in my mid-twenties. Prison being what it is, I would probably die relatively young, but in the meantime, he would last so much longer. Sadly, my ability has its limits. He never got his life back on track, and he’s ended up living on the streets, where the cold can get him. I feel him more clearly now as the faux warmness overtakes our bodies. I’m grateful that, if he had to die, it was this way; quietly. If my cellmate could tell that something was wrong, they would be able to stop it. He would still die, but I wouldn’t. I wish he was going to live longer, but at least I don’t have to live with the guilt anymore.

Microstory 1809: World of Injustice

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I was in prison for four months for a crime that I didn’t commit. That may not sound like very long, but it was more than enough to ruin my life. I could have stayed for one night, and it still would have been devastating. I’m not talking about being a person of interest, or even being arrested. I could have talked that off as a misunderstanding. No, a conviction, and one that was so highly publicized; that was something that I never came back from, even when they found the true culprit, and let me go. Because that was all they did; let me go, and let me fend for myself. I was out of the country when the murder happened. Yes, I knew her, and yes, we had had sex recently, but there is no way I could have done it. It took three months for the authorities to receive the proof! Countries don’t talk to other countries very nicely, especially not back then, or this all would have been resolved in a matter of hours. My alibi was caught on camera, it was completely ridiculous. Even after they received said footage, the police basically said to me, well, if you didn’t do it, then who did? as if it was my responsibility to do their job for them. It wasn’t until they reopened the investigation, and did finally locate him that they set me free. That is not how it works. You don’t keep someone locked up in case you never find the killer just because somebody has to go down for this. I worked really hard to keep my cool, and not become angry about it, because I didn’t want anything to stand in the way of my exit from that wretched place. I did well in the beginning. I remember being so happy as that gate opened, knowing that it meant freedom. I harbored no resentment—not yet. I didn’t know at the time how bad things were about to get...how much worse life would be on the outside, not just in some ways, but all ways.

I would come to find out that I was never exonerated. They literally just escorted me out of prison, and shut it behind me. According to law, I still belonged in there. None of the proper paperwork was filled out; nothing was done officially or correctly. There was a news story about it, with a clear picture of me walking away from the prison, but that was pretty much the only proof I had. The journalist who took that photo actually gave me a ride back to the city, because I didn’t have any other means of transport. My family had all disowned me, and decided to not exonerate me either. It was impossible to convince them that I didn’t get off on some kind of clerical error. I didn’t do it! Well, having sex out of wedlock was enough for them, so they weren’t hearing any of it. Getting a job wasn’t any easier. A background check showed that I was locked up, but didn’t show that I was released. I eventually realized that I needed to keep a copy of that news article on my person at all times. This would give me a few opportunities, but then a coworker would learn who I was, and that would make them uncomfortable. Maybe I didn’t commit the murder, but I was in prison, so I probably did a lot of crimes in there. I didn’t, the other convicts actually weren’t that bad, but no one believed me. There wasn’t an accurate paper trail. I’m surprised I wasn’t rearrested at some point. I guess the warrant was the one thing they did manage to get rid of. Prison was a terrible place, but at least they had to give me a cot. Now I had nothing. I was forced to live on the streets, which is where I die here today. I’m young in terms of years, having aged quickly due to malnutrition, and lack of medical care. I think I’m dying of exposure, specifically, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I die as I lived, trapped in a world of injustice.