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Alone in the house. That used to be how I committed a crime; now it's how I live out my punishment.
Alone in the house.
There's no one to keep me here. There's no one condemning me, bossing me, forcing me. No one yelling or looking at me with disgust or hatred. No one but myself. And that's enough.
I can't escape me. I know what I did and how many times I did it. And I know how long my sentence should be. That's how long I'll stay alone in this house.
I know how much food I should be given, how often I should be allowed a visitor, and how much contact I should have with the outside world. I'll give myself less. But it won't be enough.
With every knock on the door, I hope it's someone taking me away to a crowded jail cell. But they just leave me alone in my own prison. Alone in this house full of rooms.
Death is the only friend I hope will soon visit, but for now even He leaves me alone in the house.
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