The Demise of Megan Dewtrop

1.Writing

'People love whimsical tales of good souls locked up to rot in prison. My own desire fuelling my will to write, I set off to find a lost soul for myself to share....." No I can't write that, that's stupid..

I need a really good opening line, something to catch their attention as they say.

'A loud buzz sounds as I step through the final barrier into POD C of the highest security Juvenile detention centre in the country. It's strangely quiet, I imagine fantastical tumbleweeds rushing across the floor in a fancy. ' Wait, is that Ok? Never mind, I'll carry on anyway and change it later. It's only a first draft. I tap absently on the keyboard. I'll just get some tea... Returning with my streaming mug, I take a deep breath and let the hotness tickle my eyelids as I bring the sweet tea to my lips. Ah, the ceremonial first sip. The relief was premature as the liquid scalded my tongue.

"SHIIT!!" Omg, the pain. Look at me, using acronyms to talk to myself. I need to get out more... I stick my head under the tap and awkwardly try to soothe my poor mouth. Owy owy ouch. That fucking hurts.

'It's almost 2pm: "The girls have a break now, they spend time in their rooms until afternoon school." a pasty guard commentates as we walk down the line of heavy locked doors. Another follows quietly behind.

I wouldn't call them 'rooms' personally. Realistically, they are cells. And by protocol I shouldn't be calling the guards by that term either, 'correctional officers' or 'minders' are preferred.

The POD is spacious and light, plastic tables and chairs in funky colours fill the centre space. The doors are each painted a different colour of the rainbow: a half hearted attempt at a cheery facade. Although unlike the dank, barred facilities in The States or elsewhere, this is still, at best, a containment unit. Most girls in here do not leave this room for much of the day, eating, studying and socialising within the POD, with an exercise yard outside. They can spend up to 20 hours a day in their 'rooms'. I wouldn't like to be locked up here, but it's not like the children in here didn't deserve it. The girl I am about to meet most certainly did.'

I think back to that moment I stepped inside, the guards' offhand comments about the prisoners and their duties, the colours, the dryness in the air. It was strangely warm in this POD, the corridors I walked beforehand had a chill, but in here I felt a clammy sweat slick under my shirt. I tugged at my jumper, trying to create a form of draft. The guard piped up again: "Yeah, it's a bit on the hot side. There's a girl in here who can't get cold otherwise she'll be ill or something." He shrugs, "I'm not a Doctor, so, I dunno why."

I peek through the long windows in the cells to catch sight of the inmates, I saw beds against the left walls, chairs and desks on the back wall with bookcases, a few pegs. Some girls had decorated their walls with magazine clippings, pictures and trinkets. Only with blutak; no sharp pins allowed. Some girls lay docile on their beds: reading, sleeping or just staring into space. Others were on the floor doing push-ups or some other form of exercise. I saw a few at their desks with their backs to the door, most chilling was the girl who had pressed her nose against the glass and stared at us unblinkingly. The guard thumped the door and she stepped away.

"Of course, we do watch for suicide or self harm risks. And those who we feel are a risk are sent to the Psych ward where they are monitored 24/7..." His facts bounced off the walls and echoed in my ears. I wasn't really listening.

This could have been you.. this could so easily have been you. I thought back to my own youth.

"Ok here we are," we had stopped in front of a red door. The guard, who had informed me earlier that his name was Brian, hummed jauntily to himself. Reaching for his keys at his side, he slotted one into the lock.

"I'm going to have to ask you to step back now, Miss," the lanky guard who had been mysteriously pacing behind, murmured softly. He was strangely removed, like a complacent observer. He didn't seem to do much guarding, as such. I saw no keys on him

With the key still unturned in the lock, Brian once again pounded his fist on the door. "MEGAN! Some one is here to see you!" He glanced through the narrow window. "Shit," he shook head and whistled softly. "Can you see her?"

The other 'guard' stepped softly around me and towards the door, he rapped bony knuckles on the cold metal, "Megan? Hello?" He turned back to me, "This happens a lot. There's a blind spot in there and she thinks it's fun to hide in it. You know, to scare us."

"No, I don't know, actually." I didn't like him at all. There was something about his brooding face, silently calculating everything.

"Ok we're gonna open up now," he pulled the walky-talky on his chest close to his mouth, "Scott, requesting assistance at 14. Assistance at 14. Over." A slender black woman was already pacing across the POD to meet us.

She took me by the fore-arm and without a word, began to lead me towards the centre space. I could feel a dark foreboding sense resonate in the airy space. Many of the girls were standing at their own doors, watching carefully.

The two guards that formerly accompanied me had opened her door and one had already entered. I noted a tense hand hovering over their batons. A few seconds later and they were out again. This time with flushed faces and bewilderment.

Brian raised his hand, "SHE'S NOT THERE! I REPEAT! CODE BLUE!" The grip on my fore arm tightens. I felt exposed and vulnerable standing in the middle of the room. But it appeared to be safe, according to the lady-guard.

I failed, and am still failing to understand why the girl's absence was a situation of such terror. Surely she wasn't dangerous if she lived in an open space POD?

A dull alarm, not dissimaler to the buzz at the final door from when I entered, sounded over head. The girls at their doors took a step back and then ducked from view. I later learned that it was protocol for them to step away from the door and get down on their knees with hands on heads. A brutal sight to see on such fresh-faced juniors. The two men were facing away from us, and we were looking at their navy clad backs in anticipation.

"This is rare, I promise," The lady whispered to me. "I'm Alicia by the way."

"Casey, Hi." It felt strange to be exchanging such formalities in our current situation. "If she's escaped, where are all the guards?"

"Oh don't worry, she hasn't escaped."

"How do you know?"

"Some one else would have realised."

"This will be great for my piece."

"I'm sure there's a press law somewhere saying you can't write about it." He comment seemed smarmy, she didn't even look at me as she spoke. Of course I was going to write about this: I will have survived the escape of a dangerous prisoner. It was thrilling.

"I don't feel that safe. Where are the guards?" My voce was flat with fear, I have to admit.

"There are only 17 girls on the POD, we only need four officers."

I saw two more men in guard uniform step out from a door in front of us. Still not looking at us. They're not very observant, I thought. "Why are there five then?" I counted again to make sure, there were indeed five people dressed in uniform.

"Oh him," she pointed to the lean guy who had followed behind me originally. "He's not a guard, he's more of a..." There was a short pause, catching of the breath, "a necessity."

A girl was still standing at her door. Eyes wide and fixed. I thought she was crazy originally, but as one of the newly arrived guards walked up to her, she started banging the door, pointing and shouting towards us. The alarm still sounded, getting increasingly louder.

All four men turned towards us and looked at us with dumbfounded horror. My face curled with confusion, wondering what was so bad about me. What had I done? Subsequently Alicia whipped around. The alarm was shut off. The girl at her door disappeared from view. A guard walked briskly towards me.