Not many people have seen a real death warrant in person, let alone been issued one with their name on it.
I remember the warden instructing security to escort us in restraints from our cells, one at a time, to a small office where we were surrounded by prison officials. The warden read aloud the information off the warrants, which included our names, our crimes, and the jury’s verdict.
There was silence. My mind remained unaffected, having undergone this very thing before only to later receive a stay of execution. There was a measure of calm, knowing I wasn’t alone, that there were seven others—though, given the love I have for the other guys, I would rather have done it alone.
