I can’t stand it anymore. I’m not the one to blame for her faults… for her inefficiency. It was all planned; every detail, every single thing. I was going to do my part; she was going to do hers. I did mine and hers.
I’m not complaining, tough. It is a pleasure to do it… you scarcely find yourself digging a hole to throw a corpse in. Cold sweat runs through your forehead, you wipe it off, you feel the power. That is the way God must feel. At the edge… Your senses alert. Adrenalin in every single part of your body. Speed. Flashes of light and fire mixed with a glacial shiver…
It was a dark night, a dark cold night. One of those nights you’d rather stay at home. The blowing wind made me shiver. I was wishing Natalie was there to do her job. But it was me. Just me and my soul freezing… in that dark cold night with a shovel in hand. The ground was hard too, rocklike almost. Me and my soul in that dark cold night with a shovel in hand and a corpse at my feet. Mr Robinson used to be called. Now it is nothing. Nobody would ever reclaim his parts. Never wanted, never loved, and about to be thrown in a filthy pit.
I don’t usually deal with the burial. Natalie should have been there in that dark cold night with the shovel in hand and the corpse at her feet. But it is no time to blame. Imprisoned you have no right to complain. It is always the other’s fault.
However, Natalie will suffer. Once I get out of here, she’ll pay me. She’ll suffer. Her kids: that was her answer to my “where are you that you are not burying Mr R?” HER KIDS! As if they were not mine too.
That dark cold night, I had to bury it. If she had done it before with Mr R’s brothers, why can’t I? I prepared myself. I took a shovel and started to dig. Three hours later I stopped. I grab the corpse. It was not heavy, being 6 years old Mr Robinson did not weight too much. I threw it in. Red and blue flashes showed guilty in my face. You could tell I was doing something wrong, out of place.
— You are under arrest for the murder of your son, Thomas Robinson.
