The Inmate Book Novels & Stories

Each cell had a steel cot with no mattress and only a few had inmates who looked and smelled so dirty. “They are rogues. The wolves who lost control of their human self and they don’t belong to any pack,” Nicholas explains. Gabriel stops before the cell which is on the far end. I see inside to see the red-haired bitch sitting on the cot as if she has not done anything wrong. She smirks as she looks up meeting my eye. Gabriel walks in and she bows her head showing her neck in submission. “Where did you get the drug and why did you try to kill Aiden?” Gabriel’s angry voice echo across the walls and her body shakes in fear.

Too real. They stopped at a cell door. Inside, three women sat on bunks. Hard faces. Scars. One had tattoos up her arm. They looked at Nina like fresh food. “Enjoy your stay,” the officer said with a smirk. She unlocked the door and pushed Nina in. The clang of the bars closing echoed loud. The tallest inmate stood up slow. “What you bring us, new girl? Any smokes? Or you just gonna cry all night?” Nina backed against the wall. Her heart raced. The air felt thick. She could smell their sweat, the damp concrete. One woman stepped closer, eyes narrow.

It’s men like Conrad. I read his file. Men like him are pathetic. He was collecting a check for caring for Sinclair, but she grew up looking poor, while his kids were dressed in the nicest clothes. You could tell from school yearbook pictures the immediate difference. “Cross,” I began. “Tell me what you know about Sinclair Cross.” “Sinner? That’s why I’m here? What has she done?” He asked in rapid succession. “Sinner?” “That’s her nickname.” “Explain to me how she came to be in your care for years,” I ordered.

Had she wandered into the inmates’ cell block by mistake? Her heart leaped into her throat as her gaze fell on a large cell. The bars, brick walls, and floor all appeared to be made of silver. Inside, five inmates—reduced to skin and bones—were locked up. Men and women, stripped bare, with hair of varying colors. Two were curled up on the floor, while three sat against the wall, their legs pulled to their chests. Heavy iron shackles bound their wrists and ankles, as did the collars wrapped around their necks, the chains tethered to the walls. They had dry and rough skin, almost scaly, with cracked lips as if someone had drained all the moisture from them.

"That's what they all say." I laughed, closing my notebook and tucking it safely into my desk drawer. The prison library had become my sanctuary. Quiet and organized, filled with books that let me escape for a few hours each day. Plus, I got to recommend romance novels to hardened tax evaders and corporate fraud specialists. Life was weird. The weekly routine was bearable. Wake at six, breakfast at seven, library duty from eight to noon, lunch, GED classes in the afternoon where I helped other inmates work through their courses, dinner, writing time, lights out at ten.

Since his book Group of 9 vultures, among books, Demons of Passion and Death among the pleasures of the underworld. At no time does Irishman serve time for any crime he has committed, even if he manages to change his address, putting other people as his victims, serving for him, sometimes semi-open in Paradise Spring Penitentiary, but on January 1, 2009 , during Christmas and New Year's temporary departure.

Never ask questions. The senior leadership is always right. So why did I do this evil thing? Moreover, why did I continue?! I couldn't tell you. Intuition. Something beyond me guiding me to do so if you believe in that sort of crap. Inmate 2541, I just had to keep looking at her profile sheets for daily information. I don't even know how she looks, not that it matters; I mean, pictures are not provided in our schedule information sheets. My page is brief. It's a cleaning schedule. One I do not even need to read anymore. It is always the same. So I always move past it. Today when I do, I go to the medics page, which lists the increased dosage of that strange medication. I'll confess to you th

’ As she thought of this, she hurriedly said to the female prison guard, “I won’t continue talking to you anymore. I’ll go and call my son-in-law now! Elaine asked Charlie over the phone, “My dear son-in-law, how is the matter that I entrusted to you?” With that said, she thought of the flash of inspiration earlier and said to Charlie, “By the way, my dear son-in-law, the reason why I want to continue staying here for a few more days is not just for fun and to make friends, but it’s also because I want to go back and write a book! I’m going to write a book titled ‘Those Days When I Was in Prison in the United States’ or something like that. Perhaps it will end up being a very popular book!”

He bites back, pushing me into the hands of a guard, “Book her. We’ll see how confident you are after you’ve met your cellmate.” The guard in question takes my fingerprints and mugshots, then leads me back into a icey block of cells. The cramped spaces are lined with iron bars, and furnished with nothing beyond a concrete slab and a scratchy blanket. I suppose most former Luna’s would balk at such conditions, but what these men don’t realize is that I’ve been a prisoner before. Sure, the conditions were luxurious beyond belief – but a gilded cage is still a cage.

one of the braver inmates ventured forth. Yrah stopped breathing. Her jaw dropped open, and her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when the inmates parted like the Red Sea before Moses. They revealed a large man carrying a baseball bat over his shoulder, wearing an orange prison jumpsuit with the top half pulled down and the sleeves tied around his waist. Only a white sleeveless shirt covered his muscled upper body. She gasped and unconsciously reached out to Ysiah in support as her knees had turned into rubber.