Life On The Inside

Chapter 15

The man was already up and ready. He washed his body, making sure he was squeaky clean. He had shaved everywhere. His head, face and pubic region. He had purchased some aftershave from the commissary and used a lot, on both his body and jumpsuit.

He slowly made his way to the gym with his breakfast. He handed out food to the few people left in there. Most people in the gym were at the opposite end to the showers there. He drank all of his apple juice. He sad down on some stools which were placed just outside the wash area.

He had brought his book with him and began to read, not too loud but loud enough so he could hear himself. He was reading 'The Tell-Tale Heart,' by Edgar Allan Poe. It made think about his own sanity, comparing his mental state to that of Poe and also the narrator in the story.

Once the man had finished reading his book, he took a closer look at the showers. He tugged on the shower heads hard, just to test their strength. He headed back to his cell slowly, looking around at the block, cameras, doors, officers, closets and cupboards.

As the man walked up the stairs to get to his cell, he was kicked at the knees. His body dropped forwards. "Punk bitch. Spent so long outside. Mentally ill fucker. This is what happens." He didn't see or know who it was attacking him. All he could feel was punch, after kick, after punch. He couldn't even comprehend why he was being treated the way he was. Blood dripped down his body. He could feel it, slowly. It stained his jumpsuit. The man's suicidal thoughts only grew with each passing second. Time was slow for the man. Ever since he had been sentenced, each second felt like an hour. Each minute like a day. Each day like a year.

He finally made it to the cell door. He coughed heavily, enough to strain his throat. It felt as though it was being torn apart. He spat out a great deal of blood. His breathing was incredibly heavy, but as he walked into the cell, he grabbed the spare jumpsuit trousers that inmates were given. He turned back and tried his hardest to get to the gym. Instead, all that happened was him collapsing back onto his bed. He didn't have the strength to walk. He decided to simply wait until the night, they only did an inmate count in the morning due to the lack of officers available at the prison.

The officer who had helped the man out turned up at his cell door. He was silhouetted by the lights outside in the hallway and cafeteria. "Here. This came for you." He held out something. At first glance the man couldn't tell, his eyes were still trying to focus on it. It was a book with some food and drink on top. "Thhhaan... Thhhannkk youuuu." The man's voice trembled, so did his lips. He set the book down beside his leg, looking at the cover. It was Of Mice and Men. He took the chicken salad sandwich and slowly bit into it. The chicken was cold but it tasted great. He loved chicken salad, it was the only thing that made him feel even remotely good. He finished the sandwich off and washed it down with the can of Coca Cola.

The man spent the rest of the day just sitting in his cell, reading the books he had. He also contemplated suicide. A lot. He'd spend most nights, thinking to himself. Coming up with new ways to just jump off the roof and kill himself. Sometimes even doing things to get the other inmates to kill him. The ones who made his life misery inside prison. "I can't have everyone's sentence extended." He said to himself.

It was getting close to 6pm. There were still two hours until the inmates would be back inside and four hours until lights out. He got out of his cell and decided to just walk around the perimeter of the yard.

Each stride was painful, slow and difficult. It put strain on his damaged knees and ribs. His ankles felt like they'd give out any moment. He gave up trying to walk the entire yard. It was simply too large.

The man had finally gone back to his cell where he sat and read in peace. His cell was the last one in the row. The cell next to his was empty, making the cell after that crammed with three inmates. His ribs were still in excruciating pain. He rubbed them gently. His fingers were cold against his skin. Each breath was slightly painful.