The walls are dark, just like the walls
in my home. It brings memories to me.
Memories of Mama, and how she raised me.
I am a demon. I cannot undo what I have done.
And there is no way to break the bars of range,
as I cling onto them trying to feel the warmth,
of the sunlight, just like the heat from my Mama’s hand.
and now I could hear someone calling.
There is no turning back.
Demon of death is waiting. A few minutes ago, a preacher came and talked about God and now God is my shade.
As I left my cellar, the voices of my demons kept calling me. And I would cling onto the happiest memory I have. The memory with the sunlight brushing the garden and my Mama hanging clothes on a line, and me blowing into a dandelion. All that I could ever wish for is my mind to flow like that dandelion dust.
[The thoughts of a prisoner who is ordered to die]
Diyaana Subasinghe,
Grade 11,
Leeds International School,
Mathugama.