Death's Touch

I set my book down - the spine creased open - and peered into the shoe box for my new found friend. The small blue jay was on its side, motionless amongst the torn paper. I sighed and picked up the box and sat down with it on my lap. I can’t say that I was surprised the little bird didn’t make it. It’s as if this place kills everything that enters.

Out the corner of my eye it caught my attention while walking the yard. At first I thought it was trash of some sort. The frail thing was huddled in a corner by one of the benches in the yard. I crouched down to get a better look and he just quivered. His bright blue feathers with a soft grey haze from the baby down were out of place amongst the dirt and concrete. A survey of the area yielded no nest. The shy creature was hesitant at first, but seemed to appreciate the warmth of my cupped hands.

The guards have stray cats they feed and no doubt the little guy was easy prey and would have made a nice morsel. I didn’t want that to happen so I took the chance. At this point what could they do to me?

Once back in my room I slipped my hand into my coat pocket and gently pulled him out. Trading him from hand to hand I eased my coat off. Then I cupped him against my chest while I caressed his feathers. He settled in and closed his eyes and I felt the corners of my mouth arch upward. It was the first time in a long time that I had smiled.

Not putting the bird down, I held sheets of paper up to my mouth and tore them into strips. I emptied out a little box and brushed the shredded paper into it. Then I settled him in. He closed his eyes and went to sleep; his body rocking slightly with each little breath. I tried to ignore him in hopes he would rest, but couldn’t help glancing into the box every so often. I wasn’t really sure what I would do with the bird, but then again I really wasn’t sure of much lately.


I have been in this place for so long and yet can’t figure out why it is I am still here. They laugh and joke I will never leave this place. Sounds about right; twenty years so far. I’ve seen them come and go. The ones with the keys walk out; the others are carried away in black bags.

South of here is a college town full of life. Young adults having fun while setting up their futures. Here there is no future. Even further south is Mickey’s house where children laugh and sing; bonding with their parents. This place parents come to watch their children die. This is Starke, Florida. This is death row.

Do they deserve to die? These men are responsible for some of the most heinous and brutal crimes known. They were the grim reapers for mothers, fathers, and children. Do they deserve to die? Of course they do.

Do I deserve to die? I won’t lie, I am no angel; I have killed my share of men. But the ones that I killed were the ones that deserved it. But I guess we all have to go some time and now is as good a time as any.


I lifted the frail remains out of the box and cupped it to my chest once more and pet him. He was probably sick or maybe injured from a fall. This time there was no response to my touch. Or was this the response?

The bird rested in the box and the box on the floor. I sat back, took a deep breath, and rubbed my hand over my freshly shaven scalp. My once thick hair was another casualty of my sentence. I laced my hands together and rested my elbows on my knees. I looked up and around the small and dismal room. The uniform they gave me hung from me no longer fitting like it used to. Not much appetite when you know death is looming over your shoulder.

I was reading when I heard the taps of heels slow approaching. With every other tap there was the jingle of keys that bounced against the guard’s waist. And with each jingle I cringed. The footsteps and jingle stopped in front of my door; time for one less reaper in the world. I closed my eyes and inhaled deep when there were three hard raps.

“Yes,” I said.

A guard probably half my age opened the door. “Lieutenant Masterson, they are ready.”

I nodded. “Who is it this time?”

The young guard looked down at his clipboard “Umm… looks like Speary.”

“He the one that killed the little girl?”

“Yes.”

“Is his family here?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“What about the little girl’s.”

“Yes, they are already seated.”

My body jerked as my lungs convulsed and a hoarse cough found its way out of my clenched jaw.

“Sir, are you all right?”

He stood silent as I held my hand up, gathered myself, and then nodded. After another deep breath I closed the book, and stood up. I read the title “Living with Cancer” and tossed the book onto my desk. I was pretty sure my book should be titled “Dying with Cancer”.

“Well, let’s get this done then,” I said as I brushed past him. He stood trying to peer into the little box. “It’s a blue jay.”

“Is it alive?”

“No, he’s dead. As dead as me.”

He looked at me with a scrunched up face on his canted head. I just shook my head and walked on to pull the switch on another one. Another one closer to my own.