I asked the warden to let me see you.
“No,” he says, just like that. So I asked to write you a letter, and all he gives me is this tiny scrap to write it on.
He is a cruel man. A hard man. But there’s no room for those words here. I’m to be killed today – you know that – and there’s things I’d say to you before it’s done.
I’m sure though, now that I start, that this’ll never reach you. The warden’s like to stuff it in my pocket and bury it with me.
He is a hateful —