Guilty Until Proven Innocent

Another set of fresh tears stream down my cheeks as my eyes try hard to stare at the concrete floor.

Accusatory words that I don't seem to hear anymore are being shouted across the room, one after the other. Something about coincidences and fingerprints and blood scans and witnesses and clues, I don't listen anymore because it's all the same. And it's all wrong.

Their ignorance to this case is so clearly displayed across their hard, wrinkled faces. 

They are hunting for a possible explanation to a seemingly impossible situation.

And what do they do when they can't find an answer?

The same fingers that sign prison release papers then point to the oblivious bystander as the chosen one to carry the burden of known penalty.

I am the oblivious bystander.

As the cold handcuffs suffocate my hands, I am led down to the medical room.

I can only hear fractured parts of their sentences. Something about being calm and painless and peaceful and smooth.

There's a sudden tingle somewhere in my body, and warmth of a fluid intoxicates me.

Just as my eyes begin to close, I withdraw any thoughts of resistance.

I have the right to remain silent. Anything said or done will be used against me.