The Prison Novels & Stories

S‍er⁠a⁠ Winters Som​etimes​ the worst​ prison isn't the one that h‍o​lds‌ y‌ou​r body. It's the one that makes you‌ want to stay​. ‌ I didn't l‍eave the libr​ary.

This time, I was not crying from sadness or pain. These were tears of joy. ... The farce was finally over. Ryan and Zelda were sentenced to heavy prison terms due to the massive amount of money involved and the premeditated murder plot, with multiple charges combined. They would spend the rest of their lives behind bars, while the innocent child was sent to a foster care facility to await a new family. After Margaret woke up, she had a mental breakdown and was sent to a psychiatric hospital. The Lawson family was done entirely for. I filed for divorce in court, and because Ryan committed serious marital misconduct, I did not give him a single cent of my assets.

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.]

I tried to explain. He didn’t know. How could he? In Silver Prison, food was always thrown on the floor. If you wanted to eat, you had to crawl and eat like a dog. If you didn’t, you starved. “You’re doing this to guilt-trip me for sending you to Silver Prison, aren’t you?” Daniel’s voice was cold. I shook my head quickly. “No, really. I’m just telling the truth.” Jessica patted Daniel’s arm, sighing.

A not-funny, rumbling laughter left my lips, “I mean, I have been in a prison before, in the Auction, but this seems so damn difficult, like it's my first time, even when we aren't put on chains." Unlike the Auction prison, there's no adjacent cell. Azira had told me the prison is divided into three parts. “What part are we?” I'd asked her. “We're in the first part, downstairs. This is the part for minor crimes." Minor crimes? I guess major crimes would be treason or crossing the border without permission. Whatever type of crimes, this is also worse. When we were brought in, the cells were almost empty with just a few prisoners; I wondered what they must have

I said, because I knew that as long as I remained in Cindaly City, Joanne might pester me. But was she not the one who wanted to break up with me in the first place? I never wanted anything like that. She was the one who pushed me away. Nathan's pov, The car drove in after the huge metal gates were opened. I had arrived at the prison where I would be imprisoned. Where barbed wire surrounded the fence, to prevent criminals from escaping. As I stepped out of the car, what I saw was a cage away from the world. No reporters, no civilians, but only criminals awaited me there.

“How sketchy?” “The back of the van’s basically a metal cage welded to the interior frame with a couple steel benches on either side. The two prisoners already in it look like they haven’t bathed in a week and they’ve been using a metal urinal connected to a drainage tub. Probably for the same amount of time.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Shepard cursed again. “Extradition’s a state responsibility and most of them contract with these kinds of services. Does it at least look like they can’t get out of the cage?”

maybe 3 feet long. Prison smells like the corpse of a dead animal used to house the lost souls of unwanted people—neglect, corrosion, and decay mixed with the fear, oppression, and loneliness that come with incarceration. Prison reeks of thousands upon thousands of people from diverse cultural, ethnic, and hygienic backgrounds, confined to endure a hostile environment plagued with dehumanizing factors. You can smell the blood, sweat, and tears that stain moldy mattresses and prison blues, or the garbage and filth that litter the catwalks and gun rails of the cell blocks.

SELENA’S POV "I have always hated the smell of prison and rats," I muttered, and they seem to be synonymous to each other. As I walked into the prison yard, the cold metal bars and the sterile smell of disinfectant hit me like a ton of bricks. The ground was concrete and the walls were made of reinforced steel, towering over me like a symbol of oppression. I could see the other prisoners in their cells, some pacing back and forth, others sitting on their bunks with a defeated look in their eyes. It was a depressing sight, but my focus was on Ana and her predicament.

"Fair enough, I guess." They finish their food and head to work, squeezing into one cruiser. The drive there is silent, punctuated by windshield wipers and a gray drizzle. The morning's cool and muggy and blue. Jackson drops the three of them off at the prison. The building is a dull beige, worn down, with a few boarded-up windows, mildew coating the corners, and in between the bricks. The chainlink fence opens, barbed wire at the top squishing together as the thing slides to the left.