The Inmate Novels & Stories

she whispered to herself before releasing a huge sigh and swiveling listlessly in her chair like a child. The door opened, and in came two guards escorting two inmates. One of them had a prosthetic leg and the other, a very skinny one who looked no older than a teenager. The skinny one smiled politely at her. “Bon apres-midi, mam’zelle. Mon ami here. He needs help." Yrah nodded and showed the guards to a bed who brought in the inmate with a prosthetic leg, followed by his young French friend who didn't seem eager to leave.

He was new and the other inmates tried to intimidate him. Every time he didn't call home and talk to his parents, no one would answer the call. He even tried to call Dolly and talk to them. Her mother answered the phone and blocked the calls from prison. He was left in this terrible place. He didn't know anyone and didn't want to be friends with them. He was imprisoned with murderers, drug dealers and everything else. I grew up in a trailer park, but I was never exposed to such behavior.

Even that option was off the table. The rest of the minutes went by quickly, there were a couple of fights here and there. Nothing untypical. Today was going to be a boring day, he mused. He wouldn’t be taken to the courtroom, he wouldn’t be able to peer out the small window to see the busy streets and the people walking by purposefully. It was hard to imagine that he was once like them. That he had a life outside these walls. Today he was stuck wearing the damned ill-fitting orange scrubs, a hair net, and doing a long row of dishes. He was just tying his apron when a small, wiry inmate called out to him. “Hey man”

I can smell damp leather, disinfectant, and the acrid scent of fear. Not mine—that of others. Outside, the sky is a dirty gray. The clouds stretch like a scar across the world. Fine rain splatters against the window, a steady murmur, almost tender. I stare at that trickle of water sliding down the mesh, like a thread between two realities: theirs and mine. I no longer have a name. They call me "inmate 4382-B." But among themselves, in the corridors, I've heard another word whispered, softer, crueler:

It's against the State precinct for inmates to smoke or involve themselves in drugs. But these inmates right here are abusing the law and it's not right. "Put off the cigarettes and throw the drugs away. You're violating the law of this precinct" They looked at her weirdly and then the chubby woman burst out in laughter and the others laughed too. "Doesn't it sound insane coming from a criminal, who violated the country's law by trying to murder someone? C'mon , we all know you tried to murder Oscar Williams ex girlfriend. What a low life bítçh trying to wrap herself up with a prominent billionaire. Nemesis caught up with you and you're stuck in here because you're not the same class with hi

Hendra to find out why this man who looked like an upper class man was able to go to prison. "If I may know. What is the reason you went to jail?" Ambon asked to the point. He sat next to Mr. Hendra and tried to keep his attitude while the other inmates, totaling 3 people. He looked indifferent and had no intention of opening a conversation with Mr. Hendra. Moreover, Mr. Hendra preferred to be silent and seemed to be busy with his own thoughts.

He was at present penniless and had previously escaped an attempted hardship. The past winter, once more being hungered and frigid, he had allowed a patrolman to capture him. Alas, this time the ploy failed: when he was brought before the umpire, he was considered too old to go to an orphan home, and he was thrown into a penitentiary instead. Prison had proved to be a disastrous price to pay for some bread and a roof over his head. The situations were even more desperate than in the orphan homes. He was in a tiny, moist cell with dozens of other felons, with a few dusty chunks of straw for a pallet. His fellow inhabitants were a blend of hoboes like himself, trivial fugitives, debtors, madme

I’d just finished my rounds when the guards brought in a new transfer complaining of chest pains. And it was just the perfect timing. Because my body craved sex even after what happened with Marcus just two nights ago. Inmate #5193…Jaxon Kane. He was fresh off the bus from upstate, they said.

If he knew I was dead, would he still accuse me of betraying him righteously? Maybe he would. After all, he never cared about me. Nina was his only treasure. What did my life have to do with him? … Seven days ago, he personally threw me into the abandoned interrogation room. That room was designed for the most vicious criminals. It was a cage hidden underground where the moonlight never reached and where the painful howls of wolves could never be heard by the pack. I had always been terrified of the dark, of being alone in a confined space. I was so scared that I broke down crying and begged Ragnar, “I’m sorry. I'll apologize to Nina. Please don’t lock me in here!”

Elara’s voice cuts in from the doorway, her tone cool and professional. “Luna Rmonica, I just wanted to remind you… Kamrynn is an inmate. After her treatment, she’s due back in the prison.” The words land like a stone in my stomach. I brace myself for Rmonica’s expression to change, for her to look at me differently now that she knows I’m not just a rogue, but a prisoner. But to my amazement, her demeanor remains calm and compassionate.