Tomorrow I hear from the jury; they’ve been deliberating all night. Who are they to decide if I live or die? Who are they to put the pieces together, to be trusted to murder me after I murdered someone? An eye for an eye still rings true in this country, I suppose. But the difference is I did what I had to do, and they’re doing what they _want_ to do. To save face, to make it look like there is still some semblance of order here. If there were order, I wouldn’t have had to grab that knife in the first place. If there were order, he would have never touched me. I wouldn’t have had to do this. I put myself first and I will never regret that. So, if tomorrow the jury comes back and condemns me to death, I’ll hold my head high, knowing that it could not have ended any other way. And with nothing left to lose, who’s to say I won’t have my own fun in prison? As long as I can find a knife again …