Thud. Thud. Thud.

That is the monotonous sound of a ball bouncing against the wall. The cold, grey wall of the prison cell they caged me in. This is my life now, the life of a wrongly convicted criminal. Yes, that’s right, I was wrongly imprisoned for homicide.

My name is Yohann Bauer and I killed ten people, at least that is what my file says. I can tell you honestly that it is wrong. The uniforms and the suits, they ignored my pleas and took away my liberty, so I hope that you will see the truth. Now I have nothing but this claustrophobic grey box and the ball, my prized possession. Twice a day, a glorious platter of sludge on a metal tray is passed through the metal door’s metal shutter. As you can probably tell, everything is clinical and cold here, bland and boring. It’s enough to drive a man crazy and make him talk to himself, fortunately, I have you to talk to instead, I’m not crazy.

I am not exactly your stereotypical murderer; I am a scrawny 23-year-old man; I am the proud owner of a dishevelled mop of jet black hair and a pair of sparkling, innocent eyes. Once you’ve met me, you will never again see anyone less terrifying. The problem for me is that I am considered to have an extremely high intelligence. Now, this a trait of a serial killer. It seems that my intellect didn’t help me to get out of my predicament, but rather sunk me further into it.

Now I am going to tell you the truth.

I didn’t kill ten people. The suits got it all wrong.

They never found the last one.

Number Eleven.