I made you live the last day of your life, and I will never stop condemning myself.
I remember you every day, Horacio, and I do not excuse myself.
I apologize. I look at the image of Christ at every moment, and I ask him to forgive me for having murdered you. I didn’t want to; the bullet escaped me, I swear to you.
I am not attempting to justify myself or my actions. I set up the robbery scene that Feb. 5, 1998. I made you live the last day of your life, and I will never stop condemning myself.
I had no right to take a person’s life. Now I live behind bars for my mistake.
In my darkest hours, I wanted to die. It felt like the only choice.
That changed when I discovered a love for literature.
Before living this life immersed in literature, everything was chaos.
If I rewind the tape of my life so far to my childhood, it was tough but happy.
I grew up with my mother, though she separated from my dad when I was six years old, and we suffered many deficiencies. I guess that’s what led me to steal.
I grew up on the street and everything was an adventure.
The hunger, the cold, the fact that they hit you… the suffering itself made me feel alive.
I created a character so that my reality hurt less.
I committed my first robbery at 13 or 14 years old in a warehouse. I don’t remember my exact age, but nobody forgets their first robbery.
That same year, I ended up in an institute for minors.
As soon as I reached the age of majority, I moved to an adult prison for the murder that marked a “before-and-after” moment in my life: I took the life of Horacio Luis Dos Santos.
While I surround myself with good energies and try to absorb them to manage pain, the head takes over when the night comes.
Often, I lay my head on the pillow to cry.
The murder of Horacio will be a cross that I will have to carry for the rest of my life.
It sounds kind of contradictory to say I didn’t mean to hurt him.
My stupidity was carrying a weapon to intimidate, and unfortunately, a circumstance happened that made me fear for my life. I thought the man was going to take the gun from my partner.
In a mistake, the bullet escaped from my gun, and I killed him.
I keep it in mind every day. No matter how much I try to work through it, that shadow will follow me.
One day in jail, I asked to be put to death.
Perhaps most people reading these lines think it is because I wanted to die.
The truth is I did not want to die. I had so much desire to live that it came out of my pores.
My request for euthanasia was a way to get attention. It was a strategy for the Azul Judicial Department to grant me benefits.
I didn’t want to continue “surviving” in this place where you close your eyes to go to sleep, but you don’t know what will happen to you.
In a hostile environment like a prison, I can’t be fragile. People can’t see me cry.
It is necessary to show myself as strong, and writing helps.
I was not and am not crazy. I don’t consider myself that way.
I want to live like anyone who sees how wonderful life can be.
If the topic is my mental recovery, without hesitation, I put literature in the foreground.
I gave myself to it as a saving shield and it saved me from hell.
I write because everything is adjustable.
In literature, I can summon the absent, resurrect a character, create worlds that differ from each other, and even change my story’s ending.
Thanks to literature, I can make Dos Santos live.
Now, my life has other nuances. I have children, grandchildren, and a partner who is also a writer.
I wrote three novels, an anthology of children’s stories, and, above all, I dream. I dream like I never did before. I dream of being accessible and living off literature.
I fantasize about leaving here and being a person who joins society to contribute good things, “bits” of changes that the world needs.
I wish to immortalize myself through lyrics.
Life is a moment and time is an obsolete resource that complements each other and leaves.
That is why I write.
Someday they’ll forget me, but my books will remain forever.
I transform pain into luminosity. I transform myself every day through my writing.
Children’s stories lead me to identify with healthy and innocent people. They serve to heal my soul.
With writing, I try to patch up many mistakes. I experience internal catharsis with the things that happened to me.
If one day I am free, I will do what I can to fulfill one of my biggest dreams: to create a community dining room and give literary workshops in deprived neighborhoods where culture does not reach.
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