Prisoners Poems Novels & Stories

Trembling, Patrick Smith shouted. "Where is this? Where exactly is this!" cried Patrick Smith hysterically with a pale face. In front of Patrick was a thick, transparent glass wall. Across the glass, a vast ocean stretched out without limits. Thick transparent glass covered two steel-framed cages suspended by an extensive chain. Each glass cage contained one prisoner. One male prisoner. Franz Smith. One female prisoner. Merry Smith. Both of them were covered in blood all over their bodies. The floor of the cage was muddy with pools of blood.

At first I couldn't see anything. It was too dark. But after squinting... I realized those weren't shadows. They were people. People locked inside prison cells. It was a dungeon. The prisoners sat curled into themselves. Weak. Bruised. Half naked. Covered in wounds. Sofia moved closer to me. [Do you think they're the bad people who took Mom?] [Of course they're bad!] She answered before I could. [They're in prison!] [We should leave!] [Wait.]

Every written word is a breath of regained power, a reminder that I can still think, plan, exist in one way or another. Evening falls, but the shadow of night does not bring rest. The screams in the hallways, the slamming doors, the scraping of chains, and the sinister laughter of the inmates continue to echo in my head. My body is bruised, covered in budding bruises and small wounds. Each physical pain is a reminder that I am a prisoner, each blow is an instrument in the symphony of my humiliation. Lyra. Her name is a bitter taste on my tongue. All this chaos, all this suffering… it’s because of her. I find myself murmuring in the silence of my cell:

And they weren't just a threat. ​"They're a Prison," Kael whispered. "And we’re the jailers. But every jailer is just a prisoner who holds the keys."

I didn’t think I would be able to survive any longer in that bag. I felt them slice open the top of the bag, narrowly missing my hair by a few strands. When I saw light finally, I thought it was my call to escape, and crawled out of the bag with my free legs. Only to realise I was in another prison. Another den. The feeling of being in that den, although it was diverse from Lenard Lee’s, terrified me to my core. The walls were painted black and the men sported black shirts, like a uniform, but what frightened me further were their tattoos. They were written in Thai language, with no way for me to make out what they meant.

Are you trying to say that you're not hating yourself because you don't love yourself? - I mean that you should put a potted plant in the cells, it is beneficial for the prisoner and the jailer. - I say turning around in bed and facing him. Yeah, it really could serve as a hobby so I wouldn't be alone with my mind. I knew it was a mirage, but I caught a glimpse of my mother's silhouette watching me from the hall. - Do you want me to put a flower vase here? Yeah, you really are weird. You know, many prisoners ask for more food, a better mattress, water, or even a decent place to piss.

“Unfortunately, we couldn't get a single word from them." “Why do I feel like you're lying?" “That should concern me…you trying to read me like this.” "I don't know, maybe.” I shrug, trying to sound dismissive. He smiles briefly but the sight is gone before I can fully savour it. “The remaining prisoners died not long after they were captured.” A heavy suffocating wave of dread crashes over my ribs and I feel a deep hollow void where my stomach had just been. "What?” "The same poison found in the first prisoner.”

Lira's POV The general and I stared at each other while I searched for the right words to say. The cages around us were no longer quiet. Some of the prisoners had noticed me, and a few of them began to make noise. It was easy to tell which ones had lost their minds. I knew the kind of people kept down here. Those with broken minds. Those accused of treason. Those taken as spoils of war who refused to join the Blackthornes. The stubborn ones. The forgotten ones.

I was the newcomer, the fresh meat, and I felt like a helpless animal in a den of predators. The sounds of the prison were a constant reminder of the reality I now faced. The distant echoes of inmates shouting, the clanging of metal doors, and the ever-present hum of fluorescent lights created a discordant symphony that played on my nerves. I wondered about the others in this place—what had brought them here, and how had they survived their first night?

The only time we saw any light was when the guards did their rounds, bringing food or prisoners. My 'friends' had noticed my guest and took this time to remind me of their terms as they started to make catcalls, calls and noise in general. "Hey lovers, don't keep us waiting for too long." "Told you she would come back. Love in prison. How sweet!" "You never can tell the possibilities that exist unless you try. You ever imagine doing it in a stinky place like this?"