Love Letters To Inmates Novels & Stories

Obviously, their ‘defecationaire’ as pronounced by Zubi, one of their female mate. Locked in the room along with them, the ‘defecationaire'; a bucket with a lid, given to them by their captors to answer nature’s call; was a constant source of irritation and odour. It was kept at a corner of the room as far away as it could be from everyone. It was a circular room, not small but not big enough either. “Who’s the next person to take the 'defecationaire' out?” Aisha asked, a bit too loudly for the rest of their mates benefit.

At this time, Elaine looked at the female prison guard before slowly putting down the magazine in her hand as she said with some dissatisfaction, “Lucia, it’s not that I want to complain about you, but the magazines that you’ve been delivering to me these days are all too boring. The stories in the magazines are bad, vulgar, and not educational at all. Can’t you get me a few copies of ‘Soulmates’ instead?” “‘Soulmates’?” The female prison guard was a native Oskian-American, so she did not know what Soulmates was at all. So, she asked nervously, “Elaine, what is this ‘Soulmates’ you’re talking about?”

The first woman they bring me, a former addict, lowers her voice as if speaking of the devil. — Cassandre? … She spent her nights writing letters, dozens of letters. Not for her family, not to ask for release. Always for the same man. She spoke of him like a king she had to find. She said that “the fiancée was just a temporary obstacle.” She scribbled his name everywhere. It was frightening, lieutenant. The second, an elderly inmate with tired eyes, nods. — She would get up in the middle of the night and start screaming phrases we couldn’t understand. Sometimes Alexandre’s name. Sometimes just: “She won’t have him. She will never have him.” The guards said it was episodes. I call it madness.

I’ll wear a mask, gloves, whatever they want—but I will see their eyes. I’m finishing up a report when my phone dings. A message from Alexis. My brow furrows. She rarely texts. I unlock it. And stop breathing. A picture. Of a restraint set. A telescopic spreader bar. A cock ring. Laid out on my bed. Another message pops up. “I couldn’t decide between these three, so I packed them all.” Fuuuuuuuck.

I am now a prisoner in a beautiful palace, and there was no way out for me. I spent days in the house watching movies, playing video games, and also occasionally Mat allowed me to have calls with my close friends but only under close supervision, yeah I know his plan; to make this look more real and make me believe he is protecting me from something whereas this is plain abduction. He will occasionally ask me if I want anything to munch on, no matter how impossible the task I gave he always finds a way to pleasure me. No, I won't succumb to him and give in to his wicked plans.

Among the glossy magazines and corporate notices sat a thick, plain white envelope. I turned it over in my hands. The paper felt soft and worn at the edges, as if it had traveled a long road. My thumb brushed over the return address stamped in bold black ink on the top left corner: State Correctional Facility for Women. Below it was a prisoner ID number and a name: Jade Hart. My heart gave a single, hard thump. I walked back to the kitchen and set the letter flat on the island. I looked at the envelope for five full minutes while my tea grew cold. Then, taking a steadying breath, I slid my thumb under the seal and pulled it out.

I let one tear slip out of my eyelids. It wasn't fake because I was speaking the truth. I had done a little research, and in Fox River Prison, once a person gets jailed to life imprisonment, especially for murder, visitation hours were only once a week for 15 minutes, and there is no physical contact during that time. Imagining it alone was too painful so this was my last chance. He stared at me, a blank expression on his face, and then he sighed; at one point, I thought he had given in until his next words hit me.

Other times I'll get a half-drinkan one from another inmate. But today instead of porridge, I’ve received an enclosed envelope in place of my food. I try to call the guard back as he walks away getting ready to serve the next prisoner. “Whatever,” I mumble, then turn my gaze back towards the tray with the envelope, staring at the clean white paper with, now that I look closer, a wax stamp from the king… My dear husband has written to me. How sweet. With a sigh, I lean in and grab the paper, flipping it over to make sure it’s for me. Low and behold it has To Princess Willow Of cell 439. Please open immediately upon delivery.

“I hope you forgive me for what I’ve done.” I step towards the cell, ignoring the protests from the many protective men surrounding me. Reahcing out, I grab Remiel’s hand. “There is nothing to forgive Remiel.” A tear slides down my cheek. “I love you and I will not rest until I have freed you from this prison and brought you back home.”

I know one day, he will come to me and everything I have been longing for will be mine. I don't like sharing what belongs to me. 'I can't wait to leave this goddamn prison.' While I ponder on so many things, a guard walks to my prison position. "Good morning. This is your food," he said after opening the prison gate. He pushed the food towards me. I feel so awkward. I have never been treated like a criminal even when I was in the dungeon. I feel so bad for being treated like one. All I did was to fight for the love I have. I don't know when fighting for love becomes a criminal matter that could lead to prison.