After killing my adoptive parents who hated me, I stared at the blood-covered knife with trembling hands... but somehow, I felt genuinely happy. Everything they did to me was finally over. I would never have to go to church or endure their verbal and physical abuse again. I burst out laughing as I collapsed to the floor, realizing what I had done. Then, I stopped and touched my adoptive mother’s face.

“Mom... wake up... the fun’s over... you’re still alive, right? I can save you if I take you to the doctor.”

No response. Her body just grew colder by the second. I started trembling, looking at that scene—the room that had been clean hours ago now soaked in blood, with my adoptive parents lying lifeless. I paced back and forth, hands on my head... an hour passed until I heard police sirens outside. Fear hit me hard, but before I could react or run away, two officers burst in and tackled me, punching me in the face until I blacked out.

Hours later, I woke up to a flood of noise... blinking my eyes open, I realized I was lying on a bench in a police station, handcuffed.

“W-where... where am I?” I asked, confused. No one answered. One officer noticed I’d woken up and roughly pulled me to my feet, making me dizzy.

“H-hey! C-calm down!” I stammered, but knew they didn’t care. He dragged me further inside.

I looked down at my clothes—no longer mine but prison clothes. Wait, what? Am I going to jail? My heart raced as we entered the depths of the station.

I passed by metal bars and saw rows of cells above and below, tables scattered on the floor, and prisoners staring at me like I was nothing more than meat.

“You can’t leave me here! Look at my body! They’re going to kill me!” I yelled at a guard trying to get free—but no luck. He threw me into the middle of the cafeteria and took off my handcuffs.

Guard: “Enjoy and have fun with your new prison buddy... hope he treats you well.” He smirked sarcastically.

I thought: “Great... a bunch of men who haven’t seen a woman in ages are gonna do what with a guy who looks like a girl?” The guard added:

“Your cell is 323.”

He left the cafeteria, leaving me alone with the prisoners.

I got up from the floor shaking, heart pounding as some prisoners whistled and made nasty comments like:

“If you drop your soap here, it’s party time!”

“Be careful when you’re alone—we won’t feel sorry for your ass!”

And other awful stuff like that. I ran past them trying to find my cell. Going upstairs, I saw cell 323 open—my cell. It looked pretty tidy compared to others; seemed empty except for one messy bed. I sat on the made bed hoping my cellmate wouldn’t be some brute ready to abuse me.

It was break time; soon my new partner would show up...