The Inmate 소설 & 이야기

Chapter 4: The Cracks in the Mask Alexia The dim light from the overhead bulb flickered, casting fleeting shadows across the damp walls of my cell. I stared at the steel door, my mind a whirlpool of confusion and despair. Each second dragged into an eternity, the silence broken only by the occasional drip of water from a leaky pipe.

What kept me going was the thought that I had a wife and daughter to go home to, unlike my roommate, who had no one outside these walls. I don't know how he managed to crack jokes each day and interact with other inmates but his outspokenness gave me some solace. At least I got the chance to get my mind off my predicament and enjoy some good company. I did learn a thing or two from the people here. Half the population of Inmantes claimed to have been wrongly accused. I believed it because the guilty ones bragged about their crimes every chance they got so they could earn some respect and fear from others.

Most of the of the people in the cells are mostly innocent people who Sinclair have put here for not helping his course or finding out about his plans, But over the course of the time I've been here and Adonis became King he has released a lot of people, It wasn't a big prison anyway, we are about 50 inmates here, Life here has taught me a lot about life and making the right decisions at the appropriate time mostly as a man. Me and Rissa are seated on the table after waiting in line to collect our food from the prison cook. When we sat on the steel tables, Rissa bent her head down looking at her food and shook her head, She raised her head back up, “I'm fucking tired of this shit.” She moane

(CAMERON’S POINT OF VIEW) Have you ever been abandoned, left to rot away in a cell, and it wasn't just any cell? A mental unit. They labeled me as crazy and a psychopath who should be kept in a mental institution, but they had no idea how much these walls were closing in on me, and the longer I was inside, the closer they grew. Every moment spent here was like a hand wrapped around my neck, cutting off my air supply. I felt suffocated.

The isolation was suffocating, and I longed for the familiarity of my own bed, the comforting presence of loved ones. The night was punctuated by the distant sounds of inmates shouting, their voices a mix of anger, desperation, and despair. I lay awake, my senses on high alert, wondering how I had ended up in this nightmare. The first night in jail as a suspect had stripped away my sense of security and left me feeling vulnerable and exposed.

"This is the room for you," Melvin said, opening the door to the room he was referring to. "T-this-" Uhuk! Uhuk! Danas coughed, shaking his hands to keep the dust from making him cough. The room was dusty and dirty, and many unused items were there. His mouth dropped open at the sight of the room before him. She never even thought that he would tell her to stay in a room that was not worthy of being called a room. A sense of claustrophobia, helplessness, and suffering came over her. Danas's rough breathing could be heard.

I said aloud so he could also hear me. "What if you are here for the next one year, what will you do? Still go after her body?" Allen asked me, I was irritated and pissed. A year? Me? Hell no! "Are you drunk or something? Just tell James what I told you!!" I yelled at him, what the heck? "Do you know who is before you?" I asked him as I leaned against the wall. "My neighboring inmate? You are still an inmate irrespective of who you are or what position you hold, you are still an inmate," he said. I could hear the smirk in his voice.

Just one little window with bars, up too high to get to. My cellmate was a lifer and fittingly he went by the name Marcus. In for killing three people during a failed robbery. He had been here 15 years, would die here. "What are you in for?" he asked the first night. "Everything." He laughed, a laughter devoid of humor. “Well ain’t that the truth for all of us.” I rested on the thin mattress and did my best not to think of Celine. Over her face through the plexiglass, streaming tears. About the life we practically had.

No candles. No cake. No voice whispering my name in love. Just cold stone under my bare feet and iron air scraping my lungs as if even breathing here cost too much. Night wrapped the prison in a suffocating silence that wasn’t quiet at all , it screamed. The kind of silence that reminds you that you are forgotten. Tonight, I was not Alina Thornbrook anymore. I was Inmate 447. I sat on the thin mattress with my knees pulled to my chest, my fingers wrapped around my arms as if I could hold myself together by sheer force. My body had grown used to hunger. To bruises. To being unseen.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Miller, sir,” my cellmate said. “If I could just get by you here…” “No problem, Mike,” I said. Prison was a terrible place to be, but for a made man of my rank the situation wasn’t quite so bad. Mike edged past my legs, head down. He was a cleaner for the R-27 mob, in prison for multiple murders. Five that they knew about. Nice guy. Professional. I hoped he’d be able to relax around me soon. We could play chess. We’d need some way to pass the time, although he’d probably get out before I did.