Love Letters To Inmates Novels & Stories

"Home is where you are loved the most and act the worst." ~Marjorie Pay Hinckley "Anna?" Eli's voice calls to me after I become blank for a moment thinking about what my prison cell would look like and how I would feel about my cell mate while in there because I am sure that's where I was going to find myself in the morning. The stories I heard of prison life weren't nice, at least that was why Ade vowed never to go back there again.

Only the envelope remained in my trembling hands. That night... Stonegate Federal Prison. Damian sat on the edge of his narrow bed. The lights had already been switched off. Most of the inmates were asleep. He wasn't. Sleep had become a stranger years ago. Footsteps echoed down the corridor. A correctional officer stopped outside his cell. "You've got legal mail." Damian frowned. At this hour? The envelope slid beneath the bars. No return address. No name. His pulse quickened. Inside was a single sheet of paper.

I did what I did out of love, and yet, look how he’s repaying me. I usually don’t let myself think about those dark, dark days, but now, they creep into my mind, despite my best efforts not to let them. I can remember the cold, dark mustiness of the cell in which I was kept like the world’s most dangerous criminal. I can remember the tiny portions of food that I had to survive on ... portions that were barely enough to feed a small child … let alone a grown woman. I can remember vividly how hopeful I was that Jeff would come to visit me at the start of my imprisonment. I mean, why wouldn’t he?

’ Only the Don’s wife had the right to wear it. Right there, he personally pinned it onto Sophia’s graduation gown. I froze, but in my mind, three cold years in prison flashed by. Every single week, without fail, Victor had come to visit me. Separated by thick glass, he would hold the phone and say “I love you” to me over and over again. He wrote to me every day. The letters piled up so high they nearly filled the space under my bed. Every page was filled with his love. All of those letters had to be checked by the prison. Once, I even joked with him, “Don’t you ever feel embarrassed?”

Being in prison didn’t seem so bad anymore because of Hycinth. “I am in love with you, Jade,” he told me one night when he came visiting. His words surprised me. “Please, don’t say that. I am a prisoner condemned to die here. Don’t waste your love on me.” “I don’t care,” he said stubbornly. “I still love you.” He opened my cell door and I walked into his arms. We kissed passionately and my body remembered what I had been missing all this while. I lifted my dress over my head and stood naked in front of him in the dark. We could barely see each other so our hands did the seeing for us.

What kind of person does that? Sometimes, I write letters I will never send. I apologize a thousand times, but no words can undo the blood or the screams. James name still echoes in my head. He never loved me, but I can’t hate him anymore. He loved her purely, something I never understood until I lost everything trying to destroy it. The guards barely look at me now. The other inmates don’t talk to me much. I sit by the window, tracing the cracks on the wall. The world outside moves on without me. Maybe that’s what I deserve.

Yet there were moments, when Mina was laughing, that sharp cutting sound, which made me think of her father, and I plastered my hand against the glass and fancied that I could still feel her warmness. During the nights, when the guards changed their posts, I composed letters which I never mailed. To Kol: apologies tangled in bitterness. To Gina: promises I wasn’t sure I could keep. To myself: lies dressed as hope. I set them on fire, most of the time, before daybreak. One morning I was rudely wakened by the banging of the lock. Then a servant came in, bowing her head, with the same silver tray, stale bread, soup, some berries in the inner gardens. She didn't look me in the eye. None of them

The headlines now read like love letters to their corporate marriage. My fingers tighten around the phone until my knuckles go white. Ten years in that hellhole of a prison, and for what? To watch them parade around like some power couple success story while I scrape together schemes that fall apart faster than wet tissue paper. The bell above the door chimes. I glance up, and my breath catches. Elizabeth Walton.

Initially, she carved the words 'Save Me', but it eventually became 'I Hate You, Soren', and at the end, it was 'Let Me Die'. Maria recorded everything and emailed it to Soren every week. In the first three months, Soren would smash and destroy everything. After half a year, he would delete the videos after three seconds of watching them. A year later, he did not even bother looking at them. Isabella sat in his lap while saying softly, "See? Time will heal everything. You've learned to let go." Soren kissed her, but she did not get him as excited as the video of Sophie masturbating.

--- The Fourth Letter (The seventh month of Abrar's gestation) "Dear Arian, My request—do not teach Abrar any anger, hatred, or lust for power. Make him study, make him play sports, let him listen to music, teach him to love people. Power will drive him mad. Let him live only as my grandson—remove the label 'grandson of a monster.' What you can do is this—keep him on the honest path like you. Raisa will breastfeed him; you will give him dreams. Now my days in prison are spent writing letters and reading stories. I invent new stories for Abrar every day. When he grows up a little, you will tell him—the man telling these stories lives far away, in prison. Will he hate me? Will he be afraid? I