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118: Standing at the Prison Gate, I Was Icarus Plummeting to Earth.

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The Secrets of a Prisoner's Life

I used to be his hero, a god. I worshipped saint jessica, the permanently lost cause. She saved my life by reminding me that i could still make a difference in this world. No legal punishment would be more severe than being separated from my son. Jake stood perched on a precipice crumbling beneath him. He believed he had healing hands. His touch could render my harm asunder. But prison is a place bereft of magic and hope,. where healing hands were powerless. The only magic was in the disappearing act that the calendar provided. Abricadabra. Ind a day passed, hocus pocus. In a month.

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