[ WP ] We live in a world where people have no imagination and authors only write what they know . Master criminals write the most riveting crime novels . The government grants immunity to criminals who have ongoing series of novels .

June 28, 2016 was the day I got out of the pin. 
 
 That morning I met Jake in the visiting cell to go through our weekly routine. He would give me lessons on reading and writing, and I would give him my stories, my crimes. Jake was taking my stories and selling them as a ghost writer to the highest bidder among all the illiterate inmates. They'd be back though not like me. They still would n't know how to write once they got out those idiots. 
 
 I hated Jake. I hated his privileged life and his big words. I hated how he was making money off of us. But he had struck a deal with me and he was my way out. I would save myself one last story to write once I knew how. 
 
 June 28, 2016 was the day I told my last story to Jake. 
 
 We always started with the lesson first then the story. We went through prepositional phrases and direct objects. I was ready and I knew it, I could read and write and arrange words in the right order on the page and understand what pronoun was talking about who or whom or whatever I did n't care. I had such a big smile on my face I was so happy that I would be getting out so soon. 
 
 After the lesson he immediately jumped to the story. He was an asshole. He could n't wait to get through the lessons and got frustrated when I could n't understand. I really hated that guy a lot. I was so excited though I did n't care. Everything had fallen into place and it was perfect. I could n't show it though I could n't let him know today was the last day. 
 
 He took out his big special pen and pad and looked at me and said `` So what's the story toda... ehhhh! ehhhhh! couggggghhh! cooughhhh!''. 
 
 And then I took his big shiny pen out of his throat, wrote down today's story, and walked right out. 
 
 
 
 

