Category: Hard Time

Serving time: Part 2

Day 2:  After receiving word that my electric shackle falsely reported two escape attempts, I was interrogated as to my whereabouts and how I might have tunneled to freedom.  The prison guard said it was likely a faulty battery and that they would look at it on Saturday.  I can only guess at the tortures that await me.

I was shipped off to the labor camp this morning where I had to endure eight grueling hours in front of a computer screen.  The fan in my area was broken so I had only the industrial level AC to keep me cool with no breeze.  My mind wandered back to the ride over here, where I would stare out the window of my vehicle and think about the innocence of the poor fools around me taking their freedom for granted.  They’ll never know the torment of leaving their residence to work for a third of the day, only to return home to stay until the next morning.  It’s almost lights out.  They make me go to bed sometime between 21:00 hours and 01:30.  Any later than that, and I’ll be a bit groggy tomorrow.  15 days and a wake up left.  I can only hope I at least somewhat resemble the man I was when I’m finally released.

Serving Time


Day 1:  The guards were all taunting me with their politeness.  “Just fill out these forms and we’ll get you set up” she said with that cheery inflection.  I waited 15 minutes with nothing but my phone and many games to keep me company.  The birds might have been angry, but I was downtrodden.  A subhuman beast for them to toy with.  The man explained the rules and how the device worked as he fastened on the electronic shackle.  “Is that too tight?” he asked knowing full well that it was.  I could tell that he got some kind of perverse pleasure from this.  “Yes, it’s a little tight.” I told him, trying to hold back my humiliation.  He would not win.  “Alrighty,” he said, “I’ll just loosen it up a notch… how’s that?”  Straining to stifle the tears I said, “Yes, that’s much better, thanks.”  I’ll not give this sadist the satisfaction of seeing me brought low by the careless society that made me who I am.

Back in my cell it was lonely, drab.  Another prisoner demanded to know what was for dinner.  Something the warden was cooking up, I told him.  I could sense it in his very being.  I was an easy target, someone to take advantage of.  He knew I would have to cater to his every whim or suffer his wrath.  They say the first day is the worst.  God I hope that’s true.  16 days to go and I can’t even begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel.