The Inmate Book Novels & Stories

Now, my existence is reduced to a number, a prisoner stripped of my title, my fortune, and my pride. The inmates from the other cells snore and groan in their own restless slumber, creating a dissonant sound of despair. Some are murderers, some thieves, and others simply lost souls who have strayed down dark paths. I’m different, or at least I like to think so. I’m not a criminal in the traditional sense, but rather a man whose insatiable greed has driven him to betray the trust of his own kind. Ding, ding, ding!

Maybe they just forgot. I tried not to count the days, but I did. Each one felt the same dull, slow, cold. I kept busy with cleaning shifts and reading anything I could find in the library. The other inmates stopped asking about “the model guy.” Most of them didn’t care. But sometimes, late at night, I’d still hear whispers about him, “That rich guy who got out.” I pretended not to listen.

said Old Joe, standing up. My two inmates lined up before the metal rails and I followed their suit reluctantly. One by one officer came into view as the barrier opened up. We walked in silence, in groups of threes with officers in tow, a baton in their hands. We were led in a canter after some time. Inside were prisoners alike me, lined up for food.

It's a free book. Please, give a chance to my other books on Goodnovel as well and follow me on I*. It's the same penname wellmindelysian. You can get updates about my new stories there. Thank you again.

The walls were an unforgiving shade of gray, and the dim, flickering fluorescent lights cast eerie shadows that seemed to dance with the whispers of despair. The air was heavy with the scent of fear and uncertainty. The sound of metal doors slamming shut echoed through the corridor, a haunting reminder of the finality of my situation. I found myself in a cramped cell with stark white walls, a narrow bed, and a cold, unforgiving metal toilet. The thin mattress offered little comfort, and the scratchy sheets were a constant irritation against my skin. My fellow inmates were a diverse mix of individuals who had all found themselves on the wrong side of the law. Some were hardened criminals, whi

“I bet you taste like roses and honey.” I didn’t break our stare-down. “Can a prisoner at least get a book? I mean, if you’re not going to entertain me in any other way…” It was probably not wise to poke him, but I wasn’t some weakling he could bend with a few harsh words and threats. He stared at me before disappearing into his “office” but surprised me when he came back over with a book in his hand. He let loose a battered and beaten flutter of pages through the top of the cage. It landed in my lap with a thump. The binding was cracked and the worn pages indicated it was a much-read book. The cover wasn’t familiar, but it was also scuffed and torn.

Closing her eyes for a moment to steady herself, she finally lifted her hand and knocked. A faint voice from inside answered, "Come in." Jennifer opened the door and stepped inside. Sitting behind the desk was the same officer she had seen before....the one who never seemed to care much about what prisoners did, the one who treated everything as if it didn’t concern him as if he loved the chaos going on. His eyes moved lazily to the number tag pinned on her uniform and he raised a brow. "Inmate 2310?" he read out loud. Jennifer walked further in until she stood directly in front of his desk. Her fingers curled at her side, but her voice was steady.

Wouldn't that mean he had a kid somewhere? And the skeletons just keep growing. The first compartment is filled with files, cheque books, pens, notepads and other boring stuff. I close it and pull open the next one, and I freeze for a few seconds, red creeping to my cheeks, and my anger temporarily forgotten. There's a book with a very vivid image of what looks to be an orgy on it. Written in bold is the title, The Kama Sutra. There are several different notes attached inside, and as I push it aside, I falls out.

I just take my food from him and go back deeper into my cell to eat it. I expect to see Mason walking toward my door; instead, I see women. They’re three of them. The one in front opens my cell door, and they all walk inside. The two behind grab my hands and make me kneel. They spread my hands wide as the one who opened my cell walks toward me with a needle in her hand. I can't see clearly, but I’m sure it's silver inside the syringe. I struggle to free my hands from the two women holding me, but I’m unable to. The leader finds a vein in my left hand and wastes no time injecting me.

“Let’s talk about it.” **** He was an inmate in a low-level security prison because the crime he committed, well, the crime that he was forced to admit that he committed, was financial fraud. That damned lawyer of his old company ensured him that being a white-collar criminal would put him straight to a low-security prison, and with that came inmates with nonserious crimes. He didn’t have to deal with murderers as fellow inmates. Martin expected a relatively easier time there. He thought he only had to serve the time, and he could be out with no fuss at all in a few years or even months.