“Infinite shades of gray, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, infinite shades of gray.â€? Then they watched the life stream out of me in rivulets of electricity, my head covered by a cloth. “To spare the queasy,â€? they said. Death isn’t for the meek and mild. No, it better suits a more gruesome group of the population. Death isn’t pretty. They said I would know. They said I would know what death was like, what it looked like. They were wrong. They said I was guilty. That guilt and innocence are like black and white. Oh, they were wrong. Infinite shades of gray haunt the land of guilt and innocence. It is not clear-cut. No, it is hazy, easily muddled, confusable, and haunting for those whose job it was to find me guilty. Haunted by those words, “beyond a reasonable doubt.â€?