 HairNet Productions                
Not Really Sure of a Name
                
                
This was written by Comatose... the one who made up the name "HairNet"...



                Welcome to a Piece of my Mind

        I'm not exactly sure how to begin, because I'm a rather unusual person 
in a rather unusual situation. However, I'll make an attempt to explain as 
much as I can. You see, at the present time (and during all of my foreseeable 
future) I am serving a life sentence at some prison, somewhere. Where, exactly 
my prison is located is unimportant, because I will never again know anywhere 
else.
        I'm not exactly sure why I've chosen to undertake this particular 
task, after all, pencil and paper are not easy to come by in my present 
situation. Also, I don't know what any reader might gain from reading my 
story, but I write nevertheless.
        I appear to be writing about myself (the only thing I am able to 
believe in anymore), so therefore I suppose I"ll just start by telling about 
how I became what I am.
        I'll start at the beginning.
        No, I won't. The beginning had very little to do with who I am now, as 
did the first twenty-five years or so of this life. Stated briefly: I was 
convicted of a crime I didn't commit. However, I am guilty of an evil 
infinitely more heinous than the one I was actually imprisoned for. Surely, 
evidence exists somewhere to free me from this place, but I know I deserve 
every second of misery I live through here. No one on the outside knows or 
cares about me, and I am inclined to agree with them; I am negligible.
        Once, I was fairly ordinary. I had hopes and dreams, desires and 
fears. Now, after my downfall, I am a ruined man. NOw I only have my withered 
body, the memory, and this story arising out of my dream-like past.
        I'm not even sure any more what they think I did. I can't even be 
certain that the past I think I remember actually happened. My "past" might 
only be a result of my brain attempting to find a reason for my present. Now 
that I think about it, I can't be sure that any of this is real. Am I really
writing this? Am I truly sitting here in my cell? The only thing I am sure of 
is that I deserve whatever I may receive, but I can't say why I believe that.
        I'm a little better now. I've managed to come to terms with existence
again, as I have to do on many of my worst days. I have also re-accepted what 
I have done to deserve this miserable existence. When I recall what happened,
I become afraid. I am afraid of myself. I am afraid for my life. I am afraid
of what may come after life. The best afterworld I can hope for is no 
afterworld at all. Oblivion, an end to all, is better than I deserve, and 
probably more than I will receive. For now, I live on and hope that death will 
end my suffering and erase my sins.


     Once again, that was by Comatose... don't give TAA any credit.

