I am sitting paused at my tiny desk in the dark with pen and paper in hand ready to start writing, to try and tell you all my tale, but so unsure of where to start. I have sat here for more than an hour now. Most writers start with something witty, do they not? Something clever and compelling to grab the reader by the hand and whisk them away? But although this may seem like fiction to some, I swear that it is all real and based on fact. Well, I can at least vouch for the part that I witnessed first-hand.
I wonder at my goal in writing this account? To make money? Once that would have been enough. Oh, I have written before with some success but I have no need of money, not really not any more. I guess the reason then is to prove my innocence, to tell how I came to know this story and became embroiled within it. I feel I have never really got to tell my story. The Police listened. Lawyers listen. But they do not believe me, no one ever believes me. I have been vilified by the media and by those that knew me. Those people I thought were my friends now come forward and sell their story saying things like I was always odd, not right in the head, etc... How quickly people can turn on you.
I wish to justify my actions, although I was not in control of what happened, it was not my fault what happened. I am as much a victim as anyone else! It’s unbelievable; I know that much or I would not be in the situation I find myself in now. I know that others who have heard what I have said have branded me as mad or trying to appear as mad, maybe to be granted some kind of leniency, or pity.
But as I said I became embroiled within this tale nearer to its’ ending. It all started with a different man not so long ago……