I awoke to the same sight for the past three years: the same wall, the same cell. The air was cold and stale. Distant echoes rang across the whole building. My mind quickly turned to the morbid news I received a week ago. Soon, I will be dead. My execution date has been set for December 16, 2000. I would laugh if I remembered how. Less than 3 days away. I could live for several more years.I have voluntarily abandoned all of my appeals, except for the one my lawyer filed for me. It's being sent to the Supreme Court. I have repeatedly told him not to, but he insisted. I suppose it's his guilty conscience. Knowing if he does nothing, I will die, but I wish to die. I have repeatedly tried to reject his arguments I never wanted him to make. I'm a rational man, I don't see the raptures of life imprisonment as a better alternative. Even if I were to win on my appeal, I will never see the outside world ever again. Many have labeled my efforts as "suicide." It is not. I did not ask for the death penalty, I did not ask for the jury to recommend the death penalty, I did not ask the judge to impose the death penalty. I will not activate the machine that will inject the drugs into my bloodstream. It is ignorant to say that my death at the hands of the state is "suicide."

Some time passed, soon it was time for my one hour of recreation per day. Escorted from my cell to the yard to another cell, a cage - more accurately. Condemned inmates don't have the same luxuries as normal inmates. We get one hour of time in an over-sized dog kennel, absolutely no contact unless supervised. Inmates here are usually extremely violent; guards escorting us or patrolling the condemned unit 2 must wear riot gear at all times. I arrived there, the same location for recreation. The air was cold and smelt of seawater. There was a slight wind chill too. One other person has been here, one person that I would consider to be my "friend." Maybe friend isn't the right word, maybe just a person that is also approaching their imminent death too. His name is James Wilkens. His execution date has been scheduled for December 13, tomorrow. Just like me: he has one last appeal before the Supreme Court. He's been on death row for nearly 20 years. Well known kidnapper and serial killer. Killed 4 people, targeted women usually. I never cared about what he did, that's how it went here. It never mattered what you did, all that matters is that we were all getting the same punishment in the end. 

I approached the east side of the cage. He did the same in his. We both exchanged an understanding look. There was no emotion in his face, no complexion, no doubt. Just certainty. 

I feebly attempted to break the ice, "Tomorrow is the day, huh?" I said,  "Yes, it is," James responded. 

"You feel anything?" I stated.

"No, nothing," he exclaimed, "Do you?" 

"No, I wish I could. I don't feel a damn thing." 

"Not even hate?" James refuted, giving a slight smirk.

"Yeah, I hate myself." I stated. "I hate the world." 

"The psychologist here says that hate is bad for development and forgiveness or something." 

"I stopped seeing that man a long time ago. You can't be from the outside to understand this place. You just can't. It takes death row to understand death row." 

"He's fake," James chuckled slightly.

"And the way I see it, hate is necessary, why do you think death row exists? Because people hate us, they hate the actions we did. Every ideology in history hates other ideologies or aspects of current society. Hatred makes the world run. It's in all of us. No matter how lovely you are, it's there." I exclaimed.

"How touching."

"So, how will you feel tomorrow?"

"Don't know, maybe I'll be scared, maybe I'll just be happy, I won't know until I'm strapped to that gurney or when the cocktail is starting to flow." He stated.

"How will you feel?" He asked me.

"I wish I could feel something, a slight flicker of anything, really, sadness, anger, fear, remorse, specifically remorse. Nothing will change I think." I exclaimed, "I murdered my wife and my kid, for no reason. Stabbed them to death, broke the knife off in my wife's chest, you would have to feel something, right? Nope, I don't feel a thing."

"That's kinda how I feel," James conceded.

"Why did you even appeal your sentence?" I asked.

"To be honest? I don't know, stuff ceases to matter, life imprisonment or death, it's all the same to me. I didn't care about appealing my sentence, my lawyer did it for me." He explained, "Why did you appeal yours?"

"Didn't want to." I answered, "I honestly want to get this over with. Even if I somehow won on appeal, I will never see the outside of prison. I don't see spending the rest of my life in a medium-security prison as a better alternative." 

"Heh, you remind me of Robert Massie." James stated.

"The 'Dean of Death Row,' funny." I responded, "We're not the same. But I can see why'd you say that."

Our conversation was awkward and brief. We didn't have much to say to each other. We'd both tried to address the looming matter of his impending execution, but even then there wasn't much to say. I was eventually led back to my cell. Hours passed like the minutes. I couldn't sleep. It was what I presumed after midnight when the lock down happened. When another one of us is slated for our deaths, the whole prison is on lock down. Two guards passed my cell. It's time. A minute later, James shackled and walked forward heavily escorted. We exchanged a cold look of understanding. No thoughts were behind his eyes, just contempt and acceptance. He knew it was over. Fifteen minutes later, the lock down was lifted. That means James was dead. No call for clemency from the Governor's office, no breakdown in procedure. The state flooded his veins with a lethal cocktail of drugs. Age of 48, dead. Blatantly, I felt nothing. It didn't matter, none of this would matter in the end. I was next for the state of California to execute. And there was nothing I could do. I wanted to leave this world anyway.

I couldn't sleep. Dawn came and the routine for the past three years continued. Adrian Fletcher wanted to speak to me. He came to my cell, and we both stared at each other.  Unlike me or James, Adrian had humanity behind his eyes, working a "moral" job for the CDCR. Maybe I was just a monster. I don't know. "Sorry about James, Gary," he reluctantly stated.

"Thanks, I guess." I responded "Were you there?"

"Yes, I was," Adrian responded.

"How'd he take it?" 

"He was… He accepted it. No resistance, no protest. Nothing."

"Did he make a final statement?" I continued to pry.

"Yes: 'We don't have to imagine Hell, because we're already living in it.'"

Those final words were reflective of how I felt. Hell is already the life I'm living now. There was no sense of my life. It didn't matter. 

"The reason I came here Gary, is because your lawyer wants to speak with you." Adrian said, 

"Alright." I responded.

Adrian opened my cell, and did the usual dabble of shackling me. I was escorted to the visiting center, a single row of seats with a phone on the dividers between rows. And a thick layer of plexiglass protecting either us or the visitors. I was uncuffed and seated. My lawyer, Kenton (never remembered his last name), came in shortly. He was a typical white-shoe lawyer, receding hair and an unremarkable appearance. I picked up the phone once he sat down.

"Gary, uh.. We need to talk about your appeal."  He began.

"What about it?" I responded in a short tone.

"It's been rejected." He put it bluntly as possible.

"I'm not surprised." 

"We can file one to… maybe-" 

"No, don't." I interrupted abruptly.

"Gary, enough of this. I'm trying my best to save your life." 

"I didn't ask you to save my life. The state did." 

"Gary-"
"No, stop. Kenton, I know what you're trying to do and I don't want it. I don't want to appeal my sentence. I want to get this over with. No more appeals, I don't want it." 

"Gary, I can't just let you die-"

"I want to die, I'm sick of living. This is what I want. You're fired, Kenton." I told him,

I hung up the phone. And left with Adrian back to my cell. My perhaps only lifeline to get out of this place was gone. Good. I didn't want to appeal my sentence, I never asked for it. Now the only thing left to do was to wait out my final hours in this place, in life actually.  A day passed and nothing came of it. In the early afternoon the next day, I was given the news. 

"Gary?" Adrian came by.

"Yes?" I asked.

"It's time, come on." 

There was another guard there that I didn't recognize. It didn't matter. I was going to the holding cells called the "Death Watch" cells. My execution was imminent. No thoughts went through my head, just blank. I arrived and was unshackled. It was smaller than my normal cell, but cleaner. 

"Gary, do you want to meet with a priest or other spiritual advisor?"

"No." 

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, to be honest, I don't believe in God. Or any religion in that matter. God hates me, he truly hates us all if he even exists." I ranted, 

"Alright, do you want a special meal?"

"No, I'm not hungry." 

"Do you want the regular prison food?" 

"No." I declined.

"Alright then, what do you want?" 

"I don't know, tell this butthole to stop staring at me." I angrily responded, 

The other CDCR officer simply gave me a disgusted look and walked away.

"Gary, you're really content with dying are you?" He stated somewhat concerned, 

"I guess, I don't know." 

"I'll leave you alone then." 

Adrian simply turned around and stood in silence. I simply waited. Time appeared to go by slower. I knew after midnight it would happen. I wasn't tired, I wasn't angry, I wanted to get this over with. I tried to keep my mind preoccupied, but there were no thoughts to be bestowed. I simply lied there. Doing nothing. Time eventually picked up, it was a little after 11 PM from Adrian's watch. Noises were coming from the other room. I assumed it was the execution team preparing a warm welcome for another condemned man. While I just sat here, like some comedian waiting for one last round of applause. The phone rang on the opposite side of the wall, Adrian picked it up, he simply said 'alright' and hung up. He came over to the cell,

"That was the Governor, your warrant has been signed; it's active right now." He told me,

"Alright, so when does the show end?" I asked.
"In 30 minutes." 

"Okay." 

I simply went back to sitting in silence. Waiting and waiting. Just like I did for the past three years. I began thinking about what occurs after death, maybe there is Hell, maybe there is nothing. The concerning one was maybe once I die, I'll just wake up here again in the morning. Minutes passed, I wished I could feel nervousness, but I don't think James or Darrel Rich really felt anything where I'm at. Minutes passed, and Adrian talked to me for the last time,

"Gary, it's time." Adrian stated,

"Let's do this, then." 

"I'm not gonna shackle you. This is your last walk after all." 

"Alright then." 

He opened the door and locked it behind us. Simply around the corner the repurposed gas chamber stood there. Many states after public pressure adopted lethal injection as their primary method of execution, California was no exception. This time it wouldn't be gas seeping into my mind, it would be a cocktail of lethal drugs. Adrian led me in and I laid down on the gurney, the atmosphere was thick and filled with hate. I was strapped securely into place. Next a guard and a physician found my "not so destroyed veins" in my arms. One IV in one arm and two in the other. I simply stared at the ceiling, there were no words to say. The warden looked at his watch and nodded as the curtains opened and a small crowd gathered outside to witness my imminent death. It was my wife's family or what was left of it. They were holding back tears and looked at me, I can't describe their expressions, they were feeling something more powerful than disgust or hatred. I couldn't feel it and I didn't care. I wish I could. The state prosecutor was there too, the one who granted me my wish. But it's not like I could thank him or enjoy it any longer. The warden came in and looked down at me. 

"Gary Romero, you have been condemned to die by lethal intravenous injection. For the murder of your wife and daughter. Sentenced by a jury of your peers within good standing in the state. Do you have any final statement before your sentence is carried out?" He asked,

I thought about it, I didn't want to say anything, but I came up with something,

"I made you all wish you hated me," was the last thing that I ever said.

Everyone stared at me, and didn't say anything. I heard faint sobbing from my mother-in-law, but I didn't care.

"Gary Romero, you will be sedated with sodium thiopental, your breathing rhythms will be paralyzed with pancuronium bromide, and your heart will be stopped with potassium chloride. All in accordance with state law," The warden droned on.

The warden nodded to somebody I couldn't see. Adrian was nowhere to be found. It didn't matter. Soon, I heard a click, and I saw one of the drugs start to flow into my veins. It was cold. I started to laugh. The world started to fade, I was tired. I knew once I closed my eyes it was over. The world went black. Soon I couldn't think hard, soon I couldn't breathe, soon I felt happy. My consciousness ceased to exist. It was over. I felt happy in my last moments; I felt content. My wish was granted. 

"Adrian, you're the executioner, what time?" The warden asked.

"12:09 AM, 16 December, 2000." Adrian responded.

"Very well, I'm calling it."