Hi, my name is Witold Nowicki . I am here to tell you about my life story. I am in the
prison for life because I killed a man. There is no need to explain how, but it was brutal of me.
Now that I am 35 I realize that it didn’t have to go down like that. Without having you wait
longer, I’d like to start. I was born on the eighth of November in the year 1973. My father was an
abusive alcoholic. I never knew my mom; She left when I was about three years old. I lived
with my father until I was 18. I’ll Start from when I can remember everything from the age of
seven. Back then, I might as well have walked past a sign that read WELCOME TO HELL. It
was a rainy day and my dad came home from a bar; he was obviously drunk. When he came home he
went into my room and slid his finger across my bedroom window before he lifted his finger off,
he said to me "if I lift my finger off this glass and there is dirt on it I’m gonna beat the life out you
boy." Of course, I thought he was too drunk to tell, but some how he could. Then I remember how he
took off his, belt took my baseball bat from the right corner, and wrapped the belt around it. He
hit me. It was a agonizing pain across my back . After the third time my whole body went numb,
and I just fell asleep. It wasn’t a normal kind of sleep. It was a sleep I couldn’t wake up from no
matter how hard I tried. Three hours I woke up. I went into the living room, my dad was sleeping
with a liquor bottle in his hand and there was a six pack of beer on the table.
I went into my room, I curled up into a ball in my bed, and all I did was cry. I could not
stop. I just cried silently until I woke up the next morning. This beating went
on for years. The pain grew stronger every time he hit me. One time when I was about 11 years
old he took a crowbar and beat me on my side. At the age of 15, I smoked my first joint. It was as
if my every trouble went away, and I felt like superman. I smoked weed for a couple of months
until that feeling I had afterwards went away. I wanted more and more. I started buying "brown"
as they called it on the streets of Poland. Brown is another name for heroine. I injected it in my
blood. My first time was the best feeling in the world . It was better than the one I had after
smoking joints. At the age of 17, I was a full time heroine addict with a hot, drug addict girlfriend.
We met in school. Funny, right, both drug addicts. We skipped school all the time. School was
never really important to me. I always preferred shooting up brown in an alley with my girlfriend
next to me, than learn about some dead guy that everyone said he made a "contribution to the
good of the country." Screw it. Getting away from my problems for a while, to me was more
important. At the age of 18 my dad hit me for the last time. I was pushed to my extent. All those
years he beat me silly; I was done. I went to the basement and got my axe. As I walked up the
stairs back to the apartment I felt the adrenaline rush to my head. All those memories. All those
times I had to hide in the closet praying he wouldn’t find me came into my head. I busted down the
door he stood up saying " what are you doing with that axe boy. Am I gonna have to teach you
another lesson or two ." I stood there in silence for a minute, everything was gone it was
me and him all in a white room that had changed from our living room. I raised the axe over my
head. He was done, blood splattered everywhere. I cut apart his arms that had beat me. I cut off
his feet that had kicked me, and the head that has put fear into me for 11 years. Dear lord I
finally did what I should of done a long time ago, I thought. I went inside my room, shot up
brown. When I woke up I called the police and said I killed my father. In about 15 minutes I was
in the back of the cop car hand cuffed. For the next three weeks I went to detox. I was under
strict surveillance. I couldn’t go to the bathroom without someone watching me. After detox, I
had my trial. I confessed to killing my father. The judge said " I will not give you the death penalty
because you had a reason. It was a bad reason but you were influenced." So I kept my life, but I
get to spend it in a prison for the rest of it. Now at the age of 35 I realized I could have gone to
school, graduated and gone to college for criminal justice. I could have been a police
officer. I could have helped put people like my father away. Now that I looked at my life I could have
done better. I could have been putting people into this place I’m in rather then sitting at the place I’m in.
Hey, I can’t go back in time, but I hope this will help people who have it like I did when I was young
to do something with there lives.
Bart Kosciuczyk
prison for life because I killed a man. There is no need to explain how, but it was brutal of me.
Now that I am 35 I realize that it didn’t have to go down like that. Without having you wait
longer, I’d like to start. I was born on the eighth of November in the year 1973. My father was an
abusive alcoholic. I never knew my mom; She left when I was about three years old. I lived
with my father until I was 18. I’ll Start from when I can remember everything from the age of
seven. Back then, I might as well have walked past a sign that read WELCOME TO HELL. It
was a rainy day and my dad came home from a bar; he was obviously drunk. When he came home he
went into my room and slid his finger across my bedroom window before he lifted his finger off,
he said to me "if I lift my finger off this glass and there is dirt on it I’m gonna beat the life out you
boy." Of course, I thought he was too drunk to tell, but some how he could. Then I remember how he
took off his, belt took my baseball bat from the right corner, and wrapped the belt around it. He
hit me. It was a agonizing pain across my back . After the third time my whole body went numb,
and I just fell asleep. It wasn’t a normal kind of sleep. It was a sleep I couldn’t wake up from no
matter how hard I tried. Three hours I woke up. I went into the living room, my dad was sleeping
with a liquor bottle in his hand and there was a six pack of beer on the table.
I went into my room, I curled up into a ball in my bed, and all I did was cry. I could not
stop. I just cried silently until I woke up the next morning. This beating went
on for years. The pain grew stronger every time he hit me. One time when I was about 11 years
old he took a crowbar and beat me on my side. At the age of 15, I smoked my first joint. It was as
if my every trouble went away, and I felt like superman. I smoked weed for a couple of months
until that feeling I had afterwards went away. I wanted more and more. I started buying "brown"
as they called it on the streets of Poland. Brown is another name for heroine. I injected it in my
blood. My first time was the best feeling in the world . It was better than the one I had after
smoking joints. At the age of 17, I was a full time heroine addict with a hot, drug addict girlfriend.
We met in school. Funny, right, both drug addicts. We skipped school all the time. School was
never really important to me. I always preferred shooting up brown in an alley with my girlfriend
next to me, than learn about some dead guy that everyone said he made a "contribution to the
good of the country." Screw it. Getting away from my problems for a while, to me was more
important. At the age of 18 my dad hit me for the last time. I was pushed to my extent. All those
years he beat me silly; I was done. I went to the basement and got my axe. As I walked up the
stairs back to the apartment I felt the adrenaline rush to my head. All those memories. All those
times I had to hide in the closet praying he wouldn’t find me came into my head. I busted down the
door he stood up saying " what are you doing with that axe boy. Am I gonna have to teach you
another lesson or two ." I stood there in silence for a minute, everything was gone it was
me and him all in a white room that had changed from our living room. I raised the axe over my
head. He was done, blood splattered everywhere. I cut apart his arms that had beat me. I cut off
his feet that had kicked me, and the head that has put fear into me for 11 years. Dear lord I
finally did what I should of done a long time ago, I thought. I went inside my room, shot up
brown. When I woke up I called the police and said I killed my father. In about 15 minutes I was
in the back of the cop car hand cuffed. For the next three weeks I went to detox. I was under
strict surveillance. I couldn’t go to the bathroom without someone watching me. After detox, I
had my trial. I confessed to killing my father. The judge said " I will not give you the death penalty
because you had a reason. It was a bad reason but you were influenced." So I kept my life, but I
get to spend it in a prison for the rest of it. Now at the age of 35 I realized I could have gone to
school, graduated and gone to college for criminal justice. I could have been a police
officer. I could have helped put people like my father away. Now that I looked at my life I could have
done better. I could have been putting people into this place I’m in rather then sitting at the place I’m in.
Hey, I can’t go back in time, but I hope this will help people who have it like I did when I was young
to do something with there lives.
Bart Kosciuczyk
