Caged Inmates Novels & Stories

The inmates pressed themselves against the thick glass of their cells, staring out into the amber gloom. They were teenagers, young adults, and a few older men and women. They wore identical, sterile grey jumpsuits. Some were huddled in the corners, rocking back and forth, their minds shattered by the isolation and the constant threat of the explosive collars locked tight around their necks. Others paced like feral, caged predators. In the nearest cell, a young girl with hair made of glowing, fiber-optic blue light stared at him with wide, terrified eyes. In another, a boy whose entire skeletal structure was visible through his translucent, glowing skin pressed his hands against the glass, w

In this cage she could barely stand up, she couldn’t fully stretch out, she could only really only sit with the blanket wrapped around her small shoulders. It was very cold in the facility. Very cold and dark that always reeked of disinfectants. The room she was in was very large with nearly four hundred cages inside. Each cage had a child varying in age from four years to ten. The cages were stacked four high in ten rows of forty. Some of the kids cried in fear or pain. Others screamed in agony or rage. Most were deathly silent, though. A few from actually being dead, stress and failed experimentation doing them in, bodies now waiting to be taken. The rest were quiet because they knew no am

Amora Quinton called this place a “cage,”and that’s exactly what it feels like. I’m like a trapped animal, and I hate it. The small jail building at one edge of the village houses three cells. I’m in the one farthest away from the entry door, my view of the doorway partially obscured by the thick metal bars that run from floor to the ceiling around my cramped cell. I sit on a cot barely long enough for me to stretch out full-length. The only other object in my cell is a rusted metal bucket stained by ungodly fluids, and the two cells beside mine are empty, their tiny beds made up as if they’re shitty hotel rooms.

She's alive, and even in her condition she's one of the lucky ones. My hand sweeps up farther and with horrifying brightness, I see fucking dog cages lined up on the floor full of women. No, not only women. God help me, some appear to be under eighteen. They press their naked bodies to the back of the cages and remain eerily quiet while the bound woman continues crying. "This is fucked up, LT," one of my men murmurs.

the officer spits, his voice disdainful. I push myself up from the cot, my legs pulsating from the long hours of inactivity. My movement hesitant as I follow the officer through the maze of prison corridors. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, desperation, and despair. Every step I take is a reminder of my captivity, a descent into the murky depths of this living nightmare. We arrive at the prison dining hall, a cavernous chamber filled with a grating of voices, clinking trays, and the acrid odor of food. A long, grimy counter stretches across one side of the hall, where a group of prisoners, clad in identical drab uniforms, lined up to receive their meager rations. The inmates’ faces

I spent the rest of the day sitting in front of my laptop and looking up Duran State Penitentiary. The articles I read about the prison sent chills down my spine. The prison is run by gang leaders and almost every day an inmate gets killed or injured. Being the most overcrowded prison in our country, cells meant for only 22 men are often occupied by 50 men and some of them sleep on the floor and share 1 commodity. How is Yoké supposed to stay in such a place? One article I read said that new inmates are the most at risk of getting harmed by older inmates unless they join a gang.

“No! I won’t let you hurt her, you asshole!” Caius simply continued to laugh. “I could die here, and it wouldn’t matter. See, what you don’t understand is that this is solitary confinement. Everything is soundproof, laced with silver, and filled with the meanest and worst criminals of the realm. You put some of them in here, Luna…and guess what? The doors are unlocked.” I hear doors opening and snickering all around Jude and me. The first thing I remember is Crystalline saying, ‘sacrifices must be made.

Some even fled during the last trial, relying on others to shield them. “Change their status,” I say, pointing to five names. “Strip them of luxury privileges. They sleep outside now. In the cages.” The Betas nod and rush to obey. Within minutes, five more Omegas are being dragged toward the outer cells, iron cages stacked against the wall where the worst prisoners are kept. The Omegas whimper but do not protest. They know better. Rael moves next to me. “What about the ones who are doing well?” He's not wrong, he should move some inside who have proven themselves. We did with Veyra and we do it every year. We're delayed this year. veyra has distracted us all.

Your insights can guide me as I craft the next chapters, making them even more compelling and relatable. In writing “Caged by Him,” I aimed to explore themes of love, struggle, and resilience. Each character is a reflection of real-life complexities, and I hope their journeys inspire you as much as they inspired me while writing. The emotional highs and lows are meant to engage you, to make you feel every triumph and heartache. I believe that stories have the power to connect us, to spark conversations, and to foster understanding. I hope this book does just that.