Zurianne never imagined that saving her mother's life would cost her own freedom. Forced into an arranged marriage with Christopher Whyte the infamous Jamaican Don feared by many,she braces herself for a life of cold stares and ruthless commands. Bu...
WEDNESDAY 31 5:03a.m TOWER STREET CORRECTIONAL CENTRE | KINGSTON JAMAICA
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"Rise and shine Rude Bwoii, !" Jagga voice cracked through the damp cell, shaking the walls and rattling the bars.
I opened my eyes to see him standing over me with that same grin — the one that always meant trouble.
"Yuh tink dis yah place yah a fi man fi sleep like dem a princess ? Come get yuh Blct out a di bed and come line up fi morning search," he spat, stepping out of the cell.
I shifted, the cold metal cot biting into my back, my muscles stiff from restless sleep. My throat was dry; the stale air of the cell burned my lungs.
It had been nearly three months since they locked me in here. Three months of Tower Street — concrete walls, iron bars, and a silence so thick it presses down on your soul.
I pulled myself up, my body aching but my mind clear. The correction officer (CO), Mr. Ford known to make things harder than it already along with his corrupt officers is feels like they own this place, but they didn't know the full story.
The smell of sweat and sweat-soaked bodies filled the narrow hallways. Outside, the sun hadn't risen, but the yard was already alive with movement — metal doors clanged, footsteps echoed, and men whispered secrets best left unheard.
The other officers gathered around us , sizing up each and everyone one of us, pinning us against this wall /'d thrusting our head hard in the concrete wall like wolves would do to their prey.
Officer Ford stepped forward, his voice a low challenge.
"Yuh an act like yah king round here juss memba seh anuh outside dis, yuh deh inna my kingdom . Mi a warn yuh — don't mek me remind yuh how dis place work."
One of his crew cracked his knuckles, stepping closer.
I flexed my hands slowly, muscles coiling like a spring.
I didn't move for a while after the search. Just stood ther, glaring at him intensely. The heat rose early, curling through the bars like fingers. My shirt clung to my skin, and the grin on his face slowly starting to curl into a slight smile. I held a dull expression which reminded me where I was — and what I wasn't supposed to become.
Some men in here? They forget themselves. Prison tek dem mind first, soul after.
But not me.
Still, silence don't protect you forever.
The yard was thick with tension. Everyone was uneasy and had questionable glares at me. Jagga suddenly kicked the ball to me, breaking the tense
"Rude Bwoii !! Fwrd mek we play some ball before we consume."
I chuckled and kicked the ball at him, others started to come in and play along with us.
By brekafast, I collected my tray. A lump of callaloo, some stale bread, barely warm tea. Sat by myself on a bench in the far corner of the yard, back to the wall, always watching.
