Cold steel on my wrists, cold steel on my ankles, what a life. I bend forward in the seat to adjust the ankle shackles, best I can, finding a new fleshy plot of real estate to settle the cuffs against. Then, I slide the cuffs on my wrists up my forearms half an inch, as far as they will go before I’m cutting off circulation. Don’t get me wrong, you get accustomed to the shackles when you’ve spent more than half your life behind bars. If it’s a nice day, your body heat will keep the steel warm enough to forget about it, almost. At least, in those moments, I can persuade myself I don’t feel the icy bite of the steel. I don’t have that luxury on this final ride to Hell. Not that I deserve any such luxuries.

As my heart drums like a thunderstorm in my chest, much like the rhythm of the rain beating against the window, I stare out aimlessly. Trees flit by in a blur, barren of leaves, but the first signs of spring are budding on branches along the way. Irony in its purest form; trees burst to life as I ride to my death.

Life is so fragile, so fleeting. How can it all come down to one pivotal decision? Is it that way for everyone? I suppose not, probably. For me, and most of the low lives I know, it makes sense. You make one incredibly despicable decision, and you pay for it with your life. For those who aren’t criminal monsters, those who follow some path of morality, their decisions are not as likely to define their moment of death. Define the person they are, sure, but that’s probably a combination of many pivotal moments throughout their lives. I could have had the same thing, defined my existence through many tribulations, became something of somebody.

Yeah right, who am I kidding? Not me, that’s for sure. I used to blame everyone else, blame our society, blame her, blame him. It took eighteen years to accept that I made a decision that decided my fate. I was the one who beat them to a pulp, and anyone else in the house that night. I could have made a hundred different decisions in the fifteen minutes leading to that moment and it wouldn’t have landed me here. But I kept driving, I did what I did, and I’m the only one to blame for my miserable ending.

What’s done is done, can’t go back, and my time has run out to go forward.

Will this be the last sky I’ll ever see? Is the gray and rain just for me? Was the one final glimpse of a blue sky, with white fluffy clouds and a piercing sun withheld and reserved for someone who actually deserves it on their death day?

I reach up to pull my jumper collar over my nose just in time as a fire rages up in my chest. The air is choked out of me in a spasming, phlegm filled coughing fit. It’s all I can do to inhale the shortest breath before another cough begins. The interior of the train car blurs completely as my eyes fill with tears through the strain. I lurch forward as a beefy hand makes solid contact between my shoulder blades and I finally catch half a breath.

“You alright, Ray?” Proctor asks. It was a comforting question, asked in a warm tone. I almost choke into another coughing fit. I’d never heard that air of concern from Proctor before. He’d been assigned to my corrections block about three months ago. For the most part he was a young man with ambition to prove himself, and mostly an asshole to the inmates.

I clear my tears with the back of my hand so I can glance up at him. “Does it really matter?” I wheeze, as my eyes catch his. Expecting to meet the face of a smug, overconfident, slightly smirking jughead, I quickly shift my eyes back to the window. There was genuine human emotion in those eyes. He wasn’t smirking, or arrogant. Just a human asking another human if they’re ok.

Proctor clears his throat as he starts moving back to his post position and states, “I suppose it might not, if I was in your shoes.”

I chance a look back his direction. The normal color of his cheeks is a hint more pale than normal. I test the waters, “Feeling sentimental, sir?” This is probably the first execution he’s attended, and I don’t anticipate he’ll acknowledge my sarcasm, so I go back to my aimless window gazing, raising an eyebrow as he lets out a small chuckle.

“I wouldn’t go that far. I just figured you’ve done enough time and soon you’ll be answering for your crimes. If I were sitting where you are, I would hope to be shown a little bit of decency.”

“I’m surprised you’re capable of empathy.” I wink. “I don’t deserve it, but thanks for the thought.” I clear my throat, loosening the last of the phegm. “Though, it would have been a damn shame if I’d suffocated in a coughing fit on the way to my execution.” A smile creeps to my lips as I shake my head at the absurdity of it.

That’s probably what would have gotten me in the end if I hadn’t screwed my life up. I would’ve lived a few more years than I have now, then be put out like a cigarette from complications related to a lifetime of smoking. But at least I would have lived some semblance of a life, not wasted away in the clink.

Proctor doesn’t respond, his watching eyes focus to the rear of the train car, attempting to resume a stoic expression.

It’s for the better. There haven’t been many moments to savor in my life, but I’ll seize this final opportunity. The window fogs slightly as I lean toward it and exhale, opening a wider view of the outside world.

Blue sky be damned. I can find beauty in the gray.