I had been psychically transported into the body of a monster, a brutal psychopath, a convicted killer. The crowd was baying for my blood. The jury hated me to a man, to a woman. The judge’s verdict was a foregone conclusion, a cast-iron certainty right from the word ‘go’. It had already all been decided for me. I had no direction to turn, no chance of finding anyone to listen to my story. For God’s sake you bastards I didn’t do it. I’m not this guy. Why does no one listen to me? I’m innocent you bastards. This isn’t me. I’ve done nothing to deserve this. I’ve been framed.