Novel & Cerita Poems Of Prison

Earlier in the pond is evidence of that. There are no windows, so I can't tell if it's morning or night. I don't know how long we’ve been here, but we’ve been given food twice, so I’ll guess two days. I’ve been waiting for what Walden threatened to come. I’m hoping whatever it is, Theo and I can overcome it together. I hear the cell doors opening. The cell is made of silver, preventing us from breaking it down. “It's time,” the man who brings our food says, walking toward me.

he ordered. In the adjacent large cell, all the prisoners were disabled women—some limb-torn, others disfigured or tongue-severed. Many wounds were grotesquely untreated, festering and maggot-infested. The Capital Guard entered and, horrified by the sight, struggled to reconcile it with Madison's mansion. They likened the scene to hell itself. Steeling themselves against the overwhelming stench, they escorted each woman out one by one. In the main courtyard, Priest Abram and the other priests continued their prayer to the Moon Goddess.

113 Eliaz's POV. I had no idea which was worse, the anger summering in my bones, or the humid air and lack of in this dingy dirt hole that had been passed as a prison. Prison. Yes, you heard that right. “Get me out of here!” I yelled at the top of my voice. My words echoed and bounced off the walls, and I would be lying if I said it wasn't infuriating. “Get me the fuck out of here!’

I was here forever. This pack prison was different from human prisons. No communal dining hall, no yard to walk in. Every day, I only had one hour to exercise in a cramped room with a concrete floor and windowless walls. One hour to release pent‑up energy. One hour to remember that I was still alive. I started with push‑ups. A hundred. Two hundred. Three hundred. My arms no longer trembled like they used to. My muscles had reformed—hard, solid. Prison had not made me weak. Prison had made me harder.

Prison (RAGHAV POINT OF VIEW) The walls of the prison cell closed in on me, suffocating, taunting, reminding me of everything I had lost. My legs were folded against my chest, my arms resting over my knees as my head hung low. My eyes burned, rimmed red from exhaustion, grief, and something far worse, fear. Not fear for myself. Not for the bruises scattered across my skin, not for the cold cement beneath me, not even for the suffocating silence of the jail.

It was like offering candy to a child and right before the innocent hands would take the sweet snack, to take it away. The beautiful garden outside, on the other side of the window of her prison, was her candy. A heavenly sweetness she met every day to be only taken from her, or better, to remind her it was taken from her. The hollow and dull eyes of the young woman in front of the window looked longing for the freedom of the outside world. She put her hand on the glass, hoping it would magically shatter and form a shield around her, helping her to escape her cage. Only, if indeed the see-through material would shatter, she was still met by bars. The little sparrow had only to thank herself

maybe 3 feet long. Prison smells like the corpse of a dead animal used to house the lost souls of unwanted people—neglect, corrosion, and decay mixed with the fear, oppression, and loneliness that come with incarceration. Prison reeks of thousands upon thousands of people from diverse cultural, ethnic, and hygienic backgrounds, confined to endure a hostile environment plagued with dehumanizing factors. You can smell the blood, sweat, and tears that stain moldy mattresses and prison blues, or the garbage and filth that litter the catwalks and gun rails of the cell blocks.

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.

SELENA’S POV "I have always hated the smell of prison and rats," I muttered, and they seem to be synonymous to each other. As I walked into the prison yard, the cold metal bars and the sterile smell of disinfectant hit me like a ton of bricks. The ground was concrete and the walls were made of reinforced steel, towering over me like a symbol of oppression. I could see the other prisoners in their cells, some pacing back and forth, others sitting on their bunks with a defeated look in their eyes. It was a depressing sight, but my focus was on Ana and her predicament.