#life of a Criminal Everything has a place. In darkness and in light. I belong to the darkness just as much as any criminal does. Maybe more. If I have a place, then it would be hell where the devil lives. I can't go back to the way I was anymore. I had a chance to be a good guy again, but I ruined it and killed someone's child; someone's baby. The baby was crying and I got so pissed and suffocated it. She screamed and cried, the mother. The father, on the other hand, was so pissed that he beat me up. He kicked me and punched me and stabbed me a couple of times. My arms and my right leg bled out. Both eyes were developed by darkness. As soon as the mother came to her senses she ran to the phone and dialed 9-1-1. "I would like to report a murder," she started right away. "He murdered my baby!" A short pause, and then, "He's about six feet and three inches tall. Hair color is a dark brown, so dark it looks black. Eye color is grey. He's got a tattoo of a dove and two roses-one white and one red-intertwining together in flames on the back of his... right hand." Ah, the tattoo that I love so much. She noticed it right away, it seemed. The father beat me unconscious. I could hear and sense things happening around me. Footsteps were scurrying around until they became distant. Voices were loud until they too became distant and mute. When I woke up I noticed an all white room. I was in an all white bed. The hospital, I knew. That was the beginning of how I came to jail. Ever since I haven't stopped my crimes. I have changed for the worse and there is a part of me that enjoys the thrill of being a murderer while the other part of me will always regret what I've become.