Prisoner

1

I must have managed to fall asleep somehow because I'm woken up by a knock on my cell door. A tray is pushed inside with something resembling breakfast. I sigh but get up to get it.

I eat as much as I can muster. Then I just stare at the grey wall until they come to get me. Handcuffs again. I hate it.

More questions. A physical exam. The process is long.
"Do you have any substance abuse?"

"No." I answer. Not any longer but I'm planning to. Maybe that will kill me?

Then it's a meeting with a psychiatrist. I glance at him. Wise up. He's beautiful. Curly, brown hair. Green eyes. Dimples. In another lifetime I would flirt. Now, I just turn my eyes away. Stare at the floor.
"Hi Louis, my name is Dr. Styles. How are you today?"

I snort. What kind of question is that?
"I need a smoke." I tell him.

I look at him. He scrunches his nose. He doesn't like smokers? I'm a convicted murderer and that's his problem?
"I'll make sure you can have a cigarette after our meeting." He smiles. He looks so innocent. Why is he working at a high-security prison?

"Are you a first-time offender?" He asks. Looks up from his papers.

"Yes." I say.

He makes a note.
"Any history of drug use?"

"Yes." I admit. I better just be honest to get this over with.

"Are you active?" He asks. Looks at me with those green eyes. Kindly.

"I'm clean." For now.

He smiles and nods his head as if he approves. Makes a note.

"What was your drug of choice?" He asks. Pen on paper.

"Cocaine." I answer truthfully. I wonder how easy it will be to find here? It doesn't matter. I'll take what I can get. Anything to numb my feelings.

"Any history of mental issues?" He asks. Looks at me. Piercing eyes.

"Depression." I mumble. I really need that cigarette right about now.

"Are you feeling depressed now?" He asks.

"What do you think?" I smirk.

"I think that it can be overwhelming and that you can lose hope but trust the system, Louis. Let us help you. Use these years to work on yourself and when you get out you can start over." Harry says. Is he for real?

I can't help but laugh. Humorless.
"Why do you find that funny?" He asks.

"Your precious system gave me 25 years for something I didn't do. I say fuck the system. Can I have a smoke now?" I sigh. Rub my face.

"You claim to be innocent?" He asks. I can see that he doesn't believe me. Why would he? No one does.

"I'm no fucking church boy but I'm no murderer. It doesn't matter. You don't believe that. Neither does the system." I mutter.

"Half of the inmates I talk to say the same thing." He points out.

I stare at him. Surrender.
"Great. Smoke?"

He nods his head. Shakes my hand. That makes me emotional. He treats me like a human being, even though he thinks I'm a killer. The lowest of the lowest.

I get to go outside. They give me my cigarettes. I enjoy my smoke break. Get a headrush. Most fun I've had since I stepped into this place.

The cigarette is gone too soon. I don't get to smoke another one. Instead, they lock me in my cell again. I stare at the ceiling. Refuse to feel.

They bring me lunch. I try to eat. It doesn't taste much. An hour later they open the door. Handcuffs again. I will never get used to that. They give me my bag and take me to the special wing. The place for murderers. I'm scared. I don't show it. Clench my jaw. Stare in front of me. Don't make eye contact with anyone. Do I have to share a cell? God, I hope not! Stress levels skyrocketing. They stop in front of a door. 28. This will be my home for the next 25 years. I don't want to think about that.

They open the door and show me inside. Take my cuffs off. I look around. It's small. I can feel the walls caving in on me. It's not as bad as I had imagined though. A bed, a closet, and a tv and I'm relieved to see that I have my own bathroom, shower, and everything. I've watched too many prison movies. The cell looks nothing like they do in America.

They lock the door behind me and I start unpacking. My razors are missing. Why didn't I think about buying an electric one? I guess I have to reach out to my sister after all. I don't want them to visit me in a place like this but I can't go 25 years without seeing my family either. I would miss out on everything. I still will. Deep sigh. It has only been a day and I'm already prepared to throw in the towel. I look around. There's nowhere to secure the sheets so I can hang myself and they removed my razors.

Anger. It flares inside of me. Until now I've been too shocked. In disbelief. Now the reality of my situation hits me. It really hits me. Unfair. A scream bubble up inside of me and I let it out and punch the wall. That felt good. I punch it again. And again. I'm in a frenzy. Kicking. Punching. Screaming. I bust my knuckles. I don't care. How did I end up like this? Locked away while someone else walks around free, getting away with the crime I'm blamed for.

My cell door opens. I don't stop. I take out all my built-up anger and resentment on that wall. White paint turning red.

They grab me. I try and fight them off. I can't. I'm on the ground. Knee pressed hard against my spine. Just break it. End my misery. I feel a pinch. They're sedating me. I black out.