Free Life After Death: The Shocking True Story of a Innocent Man on Death Row by Damien Echols

anything they’d say even when they do write. After all, if they’re not motivated or intelligent enough to research the simple spelling of a word in a dictionary, then you know they certainly aren’t going to take the time to research the case. Still, all in all, hateful people just don’t seem to like writing, I guess. Either that or there simply aren’t many people in the world who wish me anything but good fortune.
    There is one odd thing that happens every now and then, though. I think of it as a drive-by preaching. Occasionally I’ll receive a plain white envelope in the mail, with no return address. This alone makes the item suspect, because people usually want me to write back, so a return address is prominently displayed. When I get one of these anonymous missives I lay it aside to be inspected after I finish with the rest of the day’s mail.
    When I get around to opening it, it’s always the same thing: a load of religious tracts and pamphlets. There’s no letter, no message, just a bunch of John 3:16s and Turn or Burns. I always get the feeling these things are sent in the same spirit with which the perpetrator would fling a flaming bag of dog shit at my front door. I picture an overweight housewife with dishwater-colored hair licking the envelope with a look of smug satisfaction on her face. It seems that the messages printed on these greasy, creased pieces of paper must have gone right over the sender’s head. Perhaps it’s just me, but I don’t think Jesus’ words were meant to be tied to a brick and chunked through your neighbor’s window at midnight. Anytime you drop a picture of Christ in the mailbox while muttering a self-righteous “This’ll teach ’em,” something has gone terribly wrong.
    Preachers visit Death Row all the time, including Baptist ministers who try to convince us that death is preferable to life. Some go so far as to tell us that we should even drop our appeals and voluntarily allow the state to kill us. When someone is executed, these vultures make comments like “He’s in a better place now.” Somehow I doubt that even they themselves believe this. I think they’d be pretty quick to seek medical attention if they had a problem. They say the Bible tells them that death is more wonderful than life. I’ve read it, and I see a different picture. If death is so great, then why did Jesus raise the dead? Why did he call Lazarus back to life? That in itself causes me to believe there must be something wholly unpleasant about that particular condition. They know it, too. They just get high on watching people die. It’s the only thing left for them to get off on.
    I cannot explain it, the way everything in my soul shrieks and gibbers for some sort of closure. How do you make someone understand what it means or how it feels to be torn in half? Not many people know this desperate need to be put back together again. I have been split like the atom, and the effect on my psyche was just as powerful. Part of me is missing, even if it can’t be seen with the naked eye. A coin is not complete without both heads
and
tails.
    All of the negativity and unsavory characters in this environment only serve to make the exceptions shine all the more brightly. It causes you to appreciate kindness and consideration even more. When those with an inner beauty make their way into this hellish reality it shines forth like a beacon, and we denizens swarm to it like bugs to a zapper. In a very real way we’re starving to death, and these bright spots in the darkness are the only thing that can fill the hole.
    On an average day there is nothing kind, generous, caring, or sensitive within these walls. The energy directed at you is hatred, rage, disgust, stupidity, ignorance, and brutality. It affects you in mind, body, and soul, much like a physical beating. The pressure is relentless and unending. Soon you walk with your shoulders slumped and your head down, like a beast that’s used to being