[ WP ] You have been sentenced to life in prison without parole . What they do n't know that is that you are immortal .

I'm a man without a name. I have a name, but for the 733 years I've lived in here, it's gone. I was placed here for being a week late on the payments. I needed the horse I bought to till my field, and harvest was in a month. My family never recovered; my wife ill and my child too young. Once winter came, I realized I was probably alone now, never going to see the outside. Never to hear my child's laugh. After the fire 3 years later, there was no paperwork about why I was there, and that was the beginning of my eternal imprisonment. 
 
 The only name I recall of my original lifespan is Nikola Klietka. When the records went up in flames, it was taken on good faith from the guards who was here for what purpose. Nikola was the only one who knew who I was anymore, and he said he'd clear my name when it came time to process me next week. Nikola never showed up that day. Another said I was convited for murder and was to be here till death, I do n't recall the name he called me. With the new owner after the fire, I was put in the darkest pits of the prison. There, I was forgotten. There, I learned I could n't die. 
 
 Soon after I was placed down there, I was no longer fed. I had thirst, I had hunger, and at first I did everything I could to stay alive, eating everything. I had to live. Then, I ran out. Not enough bugs, not enough rodents. Not enough... brown to sustain me. I still lived, and when I tried to end myself, I was too weak knew I would suffer. The end never came. I realized I should be dead, but I could n't quite get there. I stayed this way for another 15 years. 
 
 During this time, the seclusion drained my speech, drained my wits, and drained my humanity. The hunger and thirst I learned to ignore, the pit they called a cell I memorized. Then I got a friend. Another man was tossed in with me, as they did n't even think this cell was occupied. Only the dead were tossed down here. He was as shocked as I was, a frail man in here. I was n't noticed till the guard was out of earshot. He was afraid. He was right. I did n't go hungry for a long time after that, while food was delivered to him, me, now. 
 
 Unfortunately, he was also someone who could be afforded to be `` lost'' in the system. For, as near as I can tell, 500 years passed with this man in the cell, routinely being given food, name and identity lost. It would still be another 155 years till I learned to talk again, but I was relocated to another prison at this time, as this one was derelict and was being replaced. I fought against my captors, but they never found the remains of the other one. He was long gone at this point. 
 
 On the travel, I heard more words then I had in a long time, I saw the sun, as brief as it was. I was wrapped up and unable to move, but it was the first new memory I had throughout most of my life. They realized they had no information on me, and like the rest, assumed the worst. But this cell had a window. I could see outside, I could see others. I could hear others. This was the start of me regaining my humanity. 
 
 Listening to the fellow prisoners, I learned my language again. I learned what words meant. After 4 years, I was able to talk. After one day, I learned I should not talk. The sanitarium, or rather, the crazy box, was punishment for trying to say I did not belong. It was a blow I was n't ready for. I did not react well. I stayed there for another 70 years, until I was moved again after a prison riot. 4 times this process happened, forgotten until found, then forgotten again, but each time my condition improved. 
 
 In 1766, I was allowed books. I learned to read for the first time here. I learned about the world. I absorbed everything. I had learned of the new world, of the new wars, of the new people. After 40 years here, however, I was finally noticed.I had n't aged, my crimes and name non-existent. I did not know my name. I only remembered the one. I told them I was the man who wanted me free, that I was Nikola Klietka. I did not tell them my crimes, I knew better at this point, and no one had ever believed me. Then I was moved to a new kind of prison. 
 
 I did not know the personality of the prison warden, but when I finally met him, he seemed like a kind man. Because of my... longevity... I was to be taken to a new facility to be studied. I accepted, thinking that I may convince them to set me free after I gave them everything I knew. The next 32 years were painful. It turned out the warden enjoyed causing pain. I was his new outlet. It was there I learned I could die. When he learned I could die. It was a game, between us. He would cause more pain then I thought possible, and I would learn to mask everything, my emotions, my face, by voice, hoping to push him too far. I felt the blackness more then one, the blackness I could never do to myself. Always he kept me alive though. Until he too, passed away. Watching him wither was the closest I came to happiness away from my books, learning how to frustrate with the absence of emotion was a strange one, but one I learned willingly for attempt at freedom. 
 
 The warden died in his bed a great grandfather. He lived a nice life, with a family who loved him and never suspected his secret. I learned, when the will was read to release the man in the secret basement, they thought it a joke until they checked. I was wary of a ploy, but decided to go along with it, to act like I believed I was free. I masked my surprise when I learned it was truth, just in case. I walked free out of the home, and did not know what to do. There was no pull into seclusion. I was afraid. It was 1854. 
 
 I decided, remembering my readings, to travel to the Americas and lead a new life. I managed to scrounge enough money from the family when they learned what had happened to me, ignoring my condition, and got enough for a boat. When I arrived to live in this new world, I was almost returned by the Ellis Island officials, but was let through in the end, a new man in a new world. 
 
 With this new world, and my immortality, I decided I would first learn what I could do. I worked a farm in Tennessee for a while, to remember who I was. But after 20 years and a war, I decided I was better off learning other trades. I could read, write, do anything. I had all the time in the world. I learned carpentry, I learned scientific theories, I figured out how to make a really good cake batter. After the Great War, I realized I was probably going to have to change my name, as people would begin to notice I was n't aging, as the warden did. Since then. I've changed my name a couple times now, mostly which language my last name is in. Next time I change my name, I think I'll take a risk. I think I'll try to Americanize my name, and take up acting. This new movie technology does seem interesting.
