My prison.My life.It sits there mocking me, knowing that I will never escape its hold on me. I hate this chair with all my being. I can feel my soul g...owing darker with each day’s passing.My mind rages on. Why did life have to be so cruel? Why can’t I find the happiness that others seem to have? Why do I have to be stuck in this permanent hell? “Why does God hate me?” I say out loud.As I struggle to move my legs from the warmth of my bed, I swing them in unison over the edge. Using my cane, I. The knots mark fathoms – that’s six feet, and if you read American literature, there’s ol’ Mark Twain, one of my favorites. If you drop the line and you’re at the second knot, on the Mississippi river in the 1800s, that call was “By the mark, twain!” or translated “Hey, you with the captain hat. The water’s twelve feet deep here!” Well done, Mister Clemens.As long as the seas stay under three or four feet and there’s no crazy wind, we can just find us a spot with a good ten feet and drop. More

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