I don’t want to think about it, I have nothing left in this world.
Swallowing the bitter metallic taste of blood, I remember the beating I had earlier. The guards don’t care that I’m innocent; they get thrills from thrashing us with whips and batons day in, day out.
I hear a trickle of water down the broken pipe against the cheaply painted wall. It drips to the floor, adding to the large pool of water created by the outside rain. My reflection shimmers back at me from the water, and I notice how skeletal I look.
I’m longing for freedom, independence, for someone to care. To be in a less cruel environment. Out of isolation. Out of torture.
I outstretch my arm to touch the grey wall. The ancient looking paint flakes off, falling helplessly to the cold floor. I try to take in everything around me, knowing this is the last place I’ll sleep in.
The moth still buzzes around the dim sparkle of the broken bulb, looking for answers, for an escape. It flutters desperately out of my 4-walled hell, and into another.
I rest my head on the wall, and carry on listening to the pitter-patter of the heavy downpour as it hits the black tarmac floor outside and also leaves a spray of water within my own confinement.
I heave myself off the floor and walk up to the cracked mirror on the wall. Wiping away the stringy cobweb, to reveal a man I can hardly recognize. His eyes red like the devils, his hair grey from the dusty ground. His face scrawny and colourless, and as I touch my skin, I come back to my senses.
The room lights up slightly and I notice its probably breakfast time soon. I face towards the diminutive window high up, and although I cant see directly out of it, the smell of fresh air is like a walk through heaven. Before I know it, a stumpy dwarf-like guard shines his blazing torch through my cage railings. I notice his greasy hair slicked back under his small hat. He lets out a low grumble and shouts ‘its time for breakfast’. With that, he turns around and slithers off slowly, like a snake through the grass, finding its next prey.
My cell is now unlocked, and I make my way out of my cell, followed by some other weak, strange looking prisoners.
I pass a guard and he glares at me in disgust, his radio by his side blaring away, and his shimmering, metal handcuffs to match. Its 7am and the other hostages are making their way to the servery, for breakfast. I cautiously join the mile long queue, and notice my neighbour has his face bandaged up.
The men behind the servery eye me up, scowling at me, knowing I’m up for murder and my execution lies awaiting.
I inactively carry myself back to my lockup and the repulsive arrangement of stale-looking food on my chipped plate, makes my stomach churn, so I move my plate away, which doesn’t help the dry, bitterness in my mouth. Tears fall silently down my grim face. I stagger towards the gate and open it, heaving myself out for some fresh air.
I begin to think about that night again, my unplanned involvement in the phone call signed my untimely fate, which has ultimately left me to my demise, and here I am. Worthless, unwanted, hated upon for a crime I didn’t commit. But how can I prove my innocence? Who would believe me that I didn’t slay her and my unborn child.
The unending debate in my question-filled head briefly stops as an officer calls me. My attention springs to a few guards lurking cunningly by the side of my cell. They come rushing in, charging at me like angry bulls with their batons and start to drag me to the place that is feared, and only spoken about in low whispers. They snarl and sneer at me as they lead me away.
I look around, some prisoners smothering their cages with their dirty hands, their eyes filled with fear, staring at me like I’m some sort of a freak show. The smell of breakfast lingers around me and I begin to regret not eating and savouring the taste of my last meal.
My heart pounds fast as I enter the dark room. The smell of burnt hair remains in the cold room and I feel my hair sticking up on end. The man smiles with glee at the prospect of taking a man to his death. I get pushed toward the chair and they strap me in so tight that I can hardly breathe. As I look at my wrists and the nail indentations from the previous executees, all I feel is pain as the man begins shouting words I cant seem to make sense of, and slams the cold, brass door shut behind him.
With that, I say a silent prayer…
