The pitch-black night starts to melt away when the small streams of light begin to filter into the cell. He just lays there staring, allowing his eyes to adjust to the mellow morning light dancing off the peeling paint on the walls.   There isn’t a sound for some time until the faint muffles of  prisoners waking, ready to begin their day. But he won’t be starting his day – this day will end the misery and anguish he is suffering in his short life. Waiting, waiting till he hears the iron key turning in the lock. The men’s voices get louder, all talking about what is going to happen as the gaol clock strikes nine. He loses all hope. Dressed in his prison garb, shackled, trying to eat a little something , he gathers all his courage to walk out and mount the thirteen steps. At nine, the sun is high watching like a silent witness to the end of a life.