Through Her Lives

Tyrone

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His cell was cold. Like nothing he had ever been in before. The floors made of stone were constantly wet and he never went close enough to the walls to see what covered them. They received only scraps of food. Nothing that could satisfy even the smallest of stomachs, he was in dire circumstances. Unable to fix his wrong doings he had put himself in jail, put himself in the dark, cold, wet cell he now occupied. He would never see the proper light of day again.

                His body already weak he lay there, through the rising and falling of the sun. He was only seventeen yet he lay in his cell contemplating how he could possibly live here all his life and not go insane. It all seemed too difficult and unfair. He had gotten a second chance at life and thrown it away in a moment of madness. He prayed silently that a miracle would happen and he would be released.

                The time to think in the darkness was killing him, as well as the lack of sleep which meant more time to think. He was used to the feeling of aloneness. He had felt it all his life. But time to think was daunting. Were there that many things to think about? In his life, possibly yes. He lay there staring at the celling, not that he could see it. In the darkness of the night and listened to dead quietness, a fly buzzed through his cell but left as quickly as it came. There was no clink of guards walking through the lines of cells and for that he was glad. They spat on the inmates, disrespecting them and not treating them as though they were humans.

                He kept staring until the night slowly morphed into day. A headache from the sheer amount of thinking he had done kept him from thinking anymore so instead he just stared. As his cell drew lighter the clink of guards drifted through his barred doors, another day. He hadn't kept track of the days he was there like many of the others. In the morning you could hear them scratching the walls, another day to mark. Some of them weren't going to be in as long as he and they kept their cheer. Others were, and they slunk back into the darkness of their cells.

                A guard would sometimes pass by him, he feel a wet splotch on his body sometimes though he took no notice. The treatment was nothing new to him.

                Rats would scuttle across the floor. He was waiting for them to start biting him, like they had the man next door. He could hear his whimpers and screams sometimes, the rest of the time all he heard was crying. They never tried to talk to each other like many of the other inmates tried with one another. What would they say?

                "Wie geht es Ihnen?" Well, he already knew how he was. He was dying, infected with rats and mentally unstable.

                Tyrone hadn't only thrown his life away but his mind as well. He was sure that eventually the darkness that so readily surrounded him would swallow him as well, he would be lost. Possibly to the world but definitely to himself, it wasn't something he would let himself think about.