Happy Anniversary

It has been over a year, our anniversary was April 28, and the police have found nothing. Boys in blue are taciturn, slow, not at all like their Hollywood counterparts who are LOUD even in their quietest moments. I keep waiting. I keep waiting. I keep waiting. Everyday I look at that at my cell hoping that today is the day I get the good news. "We found them...we found them" It doesn't come, this pains me. Two idiots drunk on their own ego, convinced they are hardcore, that their terrorism is the path to self-aggrandizement are still out their. It burns me to think they silenced us, that they pulled a Rolo Tomasi, while we don't even have the satisfaction of looking them in the eyes. "Fuck you. We told. I called the cops the moment I thought you were gone. I saw a forensic sketch artist. I've done line-ups."
One of them raped my girlfriend. He made her suck his limp cock in different rooms. He made her suck as I was inches from them, with a gun to my head. He asked, he dared to ask me, as she was on her knees if she was my "old lady." Someone who'd do that would do it again. He already has I'm sure of it. If he hasn't been caught for that one he'll just keep going. Where do trash like that live? How do they live? Are they messy? clean? They certainly weren't messy enough for the police to find any useful evidence. What will tip the scales of fate? What stupid mistake must they make for the case to crack?
These are the kind of twits to die in a fire fight, to get stabbed. I don't want them dead; I need them alive. I need them eye to eye. I need them in front of a judge. I want them put away.

But even then I don't get justice. Prison has become an excuse. A place for the system and its components to exercise gleeful sadism. They will never learn a lesson. Without that they cannot understand the suffering they cause, and they will not suffer on their own.