Breaking. My cheeks burn. The salt of my tears has made them chapped and sore. I don't care though, I just need to see my father. Find out why he did what everyone said. The last time I heard his voice, he was screaming that It wasn't him while guards dragged him to the cells. Now this is the last time I would see him. I sat in the small room waiting. Two rows of chairs sat there, all pointing towards the glass window like some kind of morbid aquarium. The electric chair lay behind, menacingly sat there. Patiently waiting for its next victim. The silence of the room was suddenly broken by a distant shouting. A few voices screaming, bars rattling. A cold shiver ran up my spine as I heard them. The door behind the window creaked open, a few guards walked in, followed by the handcuffed mess of a man that was my father. Once full of vigour and #life, now he looked a shadow of his former self. Deep bags hung under his eyes, sitting just above his sunken cheekbones. His once too small prison clothes now hung off him like skin slowly being peeled from bone. The guards sat him in the grim throne. A lump gathered in my throat, like a tennis ball, choking me. He looked over to the window. He looked so calm, yet his insides must be eating away at him knowing that it was finally the end. I tried my best to muster a smile back to him, but as much as I forced the corners of my mouth upwards, the state of my face from tears was giving away my true feelings. The curtain fell, and knowing that I no longer had to be strong for him, I burst into tears as the lights around us surged, glowing bright for a few seconds. It was over.