Poems Of Prison Novels & Stories

The second cell, the third, and all the way up to the sixth cell he was not happy. Prince Aldridge felt frustrated but held his frustration and composed himself. They reached the seventh cell where a prisoner was sitting on the floor in the middle of the cell with his legs crossed. His arms were bound behind his back and had an iron collar around his neck with five chains chained to it which were attached to the wall.

I used to be ready for anything but inbetween living and anything, there is torture; it is a different form of death. There are bars at my window positioned with close grid spaces. It's where I look out from almost all day. That odd woman has seen me severally sitting on the bed and looking out but she says nothing. She does not seem to mind just like she doesn't mind if I stay in the dark or if I live.

Instantly, a dungeon comes to view which consists of several stone cells, cold and deserted. There are heavy metal chains in them and many of the walls have writing on them. Most of the writings are ramblings of past prisoners who lived there and had gone crazy until they died. Some of their skeletons still remain in the cells, rotting away even after death. If there is one thing Sloria does not believe in, it is to be merciful to its enemies. Anyone who tries to disrupt their peace are locked in the dungeons where a slow poison kills them over a course of several months. The poison is not always used and only reserved for the most fearsome criminals who dared to harm Dmitri or his people. H

"Okay, Stephen. I think you have an explanation for this? " Gavin crossed his arms, stood facing him while waiting for an answer from him. Half-disbelieving to see what was in front of his eyes at this time, Stephen looked at the Pedrosa clan prison building which was in chaos due to the prisoners who managed to get out of their cells, beating the prison guards and security guards who were helpless facing angry prisoners who went on a rampage taking out their frustration at being treated like societal trash.

But all I found was solid concrete; an impenetrable barrier standing between me and my freedom. Resigned to my fate, I slumped against the cold wall. The silence of the prison cell was deafening, broken only by the distant echoes of footsteps and muffled conversations from beyond the bars. The rest of the cell mates gazed at me pitifully but no word would dare the boss. As darkness descended upon me, a glimmer of hope emerged—a plan forming in my mind. If I couldn't break out physically, then perhaps there was another way—a loophole in the system that could lead to my exoneration.

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.

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

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.