100 Novel(s) Related To Prison Stories

She didn't really want to talk about her past, but she also knew that a major company like York Enterprise would definitely have done a background check before hiring her. "I once watched a thriller about a college student with a bright future who went to prison while trying to uncover the truth for a stranger. In the end, he orchestrated his own death. When he walked out of that prison with a hunched back and a bag in his arms, I began to see prison time differently." He continued in the same steady tone without considering what she had experienced. "I stopped believing that everyone who goes to prison is bad. Good people can end up there too." He looked her straight in the eyes as he spoke. He sounded sincere.

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Yet, here I was, confined in a cell, feeling as if the very water surrounding me was closing in, threatening to engulf me entirely. I allowed my body to slide down against the cold stone wall, my thoughts racing. I must find a way out. I recalled the tales shared by the older inmates—stories of escape, of liberation beyond the prison confines, beyond the depths of the water. But those tales were merely that—tales. And I had come to understand that such narratives were often the cruel fabrications of desperate souls yearning for an escape.

Even with how thin she had become. Despite everything, she felt this hope awakening inside her. There was a shower waiting. She tried to remember the last time she'd had one and failed. Nora closed her eyes as she stood under the hot spray. She let the water wash away weeks of grime. It felt as if she were washing away the prison itself. Her skin tingled with warmth. And renewal. The steam was like a comforting blanket that wrapped around her. She just wanted to stay there forever. Just to savour this rare moment of comfort.

Some stories started with hate. This one ended with everything.

I dug my nails into my palm to stay awake, then crawled to the door, leaving a trail of blood, and started pounding on it. "Please!" I yelled. "I need a doctor!" Nothing. "Please!" I slammed the door with all my strength. "My baby is coming..." My voice was raw when a guard finally answered, bored. "Save your breath. Ornella's about to pop. You can see a doctor after she's done." "But the baby will die..." "Then that's what you deserve. An eye for an eye." I collapsed, my body freezing cold. So that's what this was. In their eyes, my baby's death was payment for my sins.

If that were the case, this place might not only trap her and Alpha Levi but there might be others as well. In Arista's memories, she had never heard her master mention activating the Tunderman Tower. This sealing business had been going on since she experienced it. Therefore, if other sealed beings were inside the tower, they must have been imprisoned here from ancient times. It would be impossible for the inmates here to be weaklings. The Tunderman Tower has nine floors, and there may be more than just one or two individuals imprisoned there. If that Alpha Levi had a little courage, he could release all those inmates and maybe even have the ability to detonate the tower.

His lip was busted and the open wound there looked infected. “That’s exactly how my mom and sister reacted when they saw me,” he said sadly. “That’s not even the worst of it. I have wounds I’ll take to my grave. I have experiences I’ll never be able to bring myself to speak of because I haven’t gotten over them yet. Heck, everything they say about prison is true, especially what happens to ‘pretty boys’. Apparently, prisoners don’t see eye to eye with people who kill children, even though they haven’t been born yet, and word sure does travel fast around here.”

It was said that each ward was specific to the type of crime committed, but everyone knew that in fact they only existed to separate inmates with money from those who were just trained, and from those who were common. I was located with the worst of the worst. Those who gave up their studies when they realized that crime paid off much more. Those who killed and dismembered without pity. Those who made the mistake of bragging about their heinous crimes during a card game in a bar and were caught. I was the least likely to have done something serious, even so, some respected me for the mystery that involved my entire prison.

"The lifeline of America is either in its landscapes or underground." Amelia ran her finger across it and said, "It shouldn't be, it doesn't rely on those nutrients." "There was brutality in the prison," Carl, who was standing there reading the documents, suddenly spoke up, pointing to an article in the "Chicago Tribune." "Back then, those who were sent to prison mostly ended up dead. The foreigners wouldn't let anyone escape, and they used deadly interrogation methods. Some people couldn't bear it and ended up becoming spies, while others had the possibility of their blood flowing all over their bodies."

How could her brother be so cruel and push her out of the house just after she had gotten home from jail? She now hated crowds and gatherings like this so much because every day in that prison yard felt like a big sad and lifeless party she was forced to partake in. There were no foods, jesting, dancing, or laughing; only brutal fights and bullying, which she managed to so very much escape every time.

"We are ready to get out of this disgusting place." The news hit them all at once; they didn't expect that kind of information. The dream of someday getting out of prison was one that all three teenagers shared, life was hard behind the thick bars, and it was even harder if you were there unfairly. The three boys could only imagine five percent of what the world was like and the freedom of living in it. "It's impossible to get out of here, Jack," Annette's dry voice brought everyone back to reality. "It's not," he affirmed "this time, it's going to work," and he assured with a slight smile.

Inside the prison, we learned to exist together. Not live. Existing wasn't living. But we made it—bearable. Almost. "Tell me a story, Mommy," Grace said. She asked this often. Clinging to rituals from before. From when she was just three-year-old girl instead of consciousness cage. "What kind of story, baby?" "A happy one. About us. About when we were real." I searched my fading memories. Found fragments. Pieces of life before prison.

Dastan I finally get released from prison after Twelve days, I got the shit beat out of me everyday in there and no matter how much I begged the guards never moved me to a different cell but they never did, I know this has to be somebody’s doing because there is no way under normal circumstances that someone like me would be treated this way.

Yes, you heard right. I was fond of writing stories since childhood but then my life had everything that I wanted so I never thought deeply about it that I should write stories. Stories were a way by which we convey our mind and heart to everyone, which we were not able to tell to anyone but then I did not need it because I had the one who not only listened to mean and also fulfilled my every demand. With him I never felt that I had anything that I could not share with him but when I came out of jail, I had no one with whom I could tell my feelings so I started writing down what I had endured in prison or seen others do.

She believed that this would make Charlie take her seriously and get her out of prison quickly. However, after thinking about it, she still wanted to rely on her story of being the Ferocious Ghost of Bedford Hills Correctional Facility to brag to others in the future. If she were to admit that she was being bullied in prison now, how could she tell others about her legendary experience in Bedford Hills Correctional Facility in the future, then?

Behind the door… Everything. Finally, I saw it. A ladder hanging outside the window. Rage surged through me. I smashed my fist into the glass. It shattered instantly. Fragments flew everywhere, slicing into my arm. The pain was sharp. Clear. And suddenly I remembered the wounds I saw on Mia’s body in the hospital. It felt like a knife stabbing into my heart. Did it hurt her like this too? Was she in pain— just like I am now? In those four years in prison and these past months serving Amelia—

Chapter 4 Sophia’s POV I stood there on shaky legs in the prayer room with my skirt still bunched up and my pussy dripping down my thighs from everything we had done. My whole body felt like it was on fire and stopping now seemed impossible. Father Damien had just pulled out of my mouth and fixed my clothes but my cunt kept clenching and aching so bad I could barely think straight. “Father please do not send me away yet,” I begged, grabbing onto his cassock with both hands, my voice coming out all desperate and whiny.

"But omo, I don’t want to go to ‘kiri-kiri’(prison). Everyone would think I killed Amaka and I am ready to fill that gap." I’ve heard stories from papa’s elder brother uncle Samson. He worked at the Nigerian prison service. I learnt of how terrible the Nigerian prison yard can be. Is it the poor feeding? He once told me about how inmates in the maximum security prison were treated. Those ones are even on death row. They could be killed any point in time. The maximum security prison consists of hardened criminals, terrorists and beasts under the skins of homo-sapiens. The other two which are the low-security and medium-security are of no difference especially in these Nigerian prisons. Sorry it is not the New York prisons you see in movies where inmates play basketball, watch TV, holla and live a happy life within the four walls of prison. Nah! kojo rara (impossible). I didn’t want to go to any of these prisons anyway. I felt so much sorry having put an innocent person in trouble. Life sentence! I wished I could just reverse time to when I saw the ‘evil tool’ on the ground beside sister Amaka. Man I wished I had a teleporting machine or be like Doctor Strange. If you know, you know.

Prison authorities swiftly responded to the disturbance, rushing to the scene. The sight that awaited them was one of grim and chilling brutality. Susan lay motionless, her life snuffed out by the senseless act of her fellow inmate. The drug addict, overwhelmed by regret and the harsh reality of what she had done, stood trembling amidst the aftermath of her impulsive violence. In the aftermath of this tragic event, the prison was thrown into disarray. Investigations would be launched to uncover the circumstances surrounding Susan's death. Whispers would echo through the prison corridors, carrying tales of a life cut short and the consequences of a life marred by conflict and addiction.