I remember that day vividly. The day it all went wrong. I woke up and got ready for work like normal, sure that this day would be just like any other. Having almost zero guilt for my own actions of the past due to time hiding my thoughts of past months, I heard a loud banging sound at my door and went to check who it was and as I walked into the lounge, through the window I saw a police car on the road. The next thing I knew was that I was over my garden fence running like I was sixteen again. They must have known I would run because waiting on the other side of the field was another three police cars. I heard them all around me and dropped to the ground hitting my fists into the dirt. There was nothing I could do but surrender, I stood no chance against armed men who would even have a second thought about pulling that trigger. The journey there was long and tiring but nothing compared to what I experienced in Oregon State Penitentiary, where I have spent the last two years of my life and am sentenced to stay for another thirteen. This place was much worse. In my time, the nineteen-thirties, than they would let any prison get nowadays. The warden O’Malley did not care what went on in his prison so long as the walls were inescapable. My arrogance led to most of my time being spent sleeping on a wooden frame of a bed in the dirt with little light ever reaching us, a place we called “the hole”. Here, I met Buck for the first time in my life, one of the most intelligent prisoners ever to stay in Oregon’s penitentiary. He would tell thousands of stories of his life and could talk for days, but his ability to talk wasn’t the only amazing thing about this man. He would unscrew the bolts inside the chain in an unnoticeable way so that no guard could ever know our doors were unlocked. After this, he used his little makeshift saws to break down the bars’ structural integrity on the small gap we had for light. It was just large enough to fit a person through with some determination. After many nights came the day we would make our escape. The other convicts were oblivious and the six of us used Buck’s recordings of the guards’ habits and movements to get across the field to the tool and equipment shed guarded by three officers. We had a team of young violent criminals who cleverly snuck up on these men and knocked them out within seconds. We then used their keys to get into the shed to get the boxcar. Buck’s plan worked perfectly. We had three guns and were ready to charge the gate, so we got in the boxcar and set off. The dark foggy night could not hide our shocks as we raced down the hill. The car built up speed as it went towards the gate, guns firing, bullets ripping through the air. It saw with my own two eyes that the gate opened almost as we went through it. Almost.