Death, to Sherman was termed freedom, liberty from the hell hole he had to keep waking up to. People called it life.
Life is love they say but when there is no love what's left?....tired of living in the illusion that things will turn out right, tired of hoping for dreams and things that'll forever be nothing but just words carried about by the wind.
The opportunity to be a donor gave him expectations of finally being free from the chains of despair which often pushes him to involve in brazen acts, free from the curse of having to feel regret every now and then, free from life's bondage.
To him, prison was no different than life outside its walls. It's still the same, oppression of the minority, crime and bullying, killing and waiting to be killed, it's all the same thing....
It's painful, having come all this way and still have nothing to offer.
