A Day in the Life of John Doe
His name was John Doe... well, it actually wasn't. The truth was, he had changed his name. Multiple times. The truth was, John Doe was probably going to prison. Real soon. The truth was, John Doe was definitely going to prison. For a long time.
The trial was yesterday. John Doe couldn’t have asked for more to go wrong. The blind crowd jeering at every insignificant word, the clueless defendants who functionally served as additional prosecutors, the hot-tempered judge who seemed incapable of not hitting his gavel for a minute, but worst of all, the verdict of two months in prison. John Doe closed his eyes and dropped his head onto his desk. The things he could do in two months! John Doe couldn't believe the length of his verdict. No, the worst part of it all was that he was given twenty-four hours of freedom before eternal hell. Two months! John Doe would come out of prison a twenty-two year old man, but he might as well come out sixty.
No, the worst part of it all was the reason he was put on trial in the first place. Tax evasion. The King claims the taxes are used for "keeping the general peace." John Doe knew that the money was actually used to fund the King's army in war, where people would die—the King's own people—and somehow that was supposed to "keep the general peace."
John Doe shook his head. He had good reasons for his so-called crime; he had just wanted new clothes. John Doe was a tax collector, a tax collector with little money. He was tired of those linen shirts, those rectangular cuts, tired of seeing the nobles wear Spanish style ornamented cloaks. So he did the perfectly harmless—he stopped paying taxes to buy the Spanish cloaks he so longingly desired. But of course, those pesky officials noticed him and caught him. John Doe had tried to change his name multiple times to avoid getting caught, but the officials were infamous for their persistence. The court's sentence had stripped him of all the... errr, necessities... that he had bought with the money that should have gone to "keeping the general peace." John Doe got up from his desk and looked at it one last time. He smiled grimly. At least those bloody officials missed one thing. His twenty-four hours were over, and John Doe silently made his way out of his one room hut to greet his escort to eternal hell.
They say the worst part for prisoners is that they are sometimes put in isolated cells. They say the worst part is that they are put to heavy labour with no reward. But no, the worst part was that John Doe had to wear simple black and white striped prison clothing. John Doe prayed that they just give him La Guillotine. Unfortunately, this was England, not France.