Behind Bars

The End

The end is just the beginning...

The worst thing about prison for me wasn't the lack of freedom,the shitty food,the hard bed that caused back pains everyday or the scowl on my inmate's faces or my lack of visitors.
No,I'll leave you to guess.

Actually,forget it. I have no patience for that. Yeah,I know it's ironic for someone like me in this position to utter impatience. I have time,lots of it but not patience.

Never had it and prison never could change that about me.So you cannot say I am enduring my prison term patiently.For me,being here is time just ticking away and me just doing nothing about it.

I'll tell you or maybe you already know- it's the silence in my head. The loud silence accompanied with a wind that moves freely across my mind bringing out my thoughts without consent.
My bedside jail mate and I argued about it yesterday and I don't care what anyone says, I'll rather choose prison time with hard labor in a heartbeat than to be locked up every single day, the four walls enclosing us being the only thing we see when we wake up and go to bed.

Because I think I'm going crazy.

At least with hard labor, I'll be occupied with anything other than my thoughts and I've heard it builds up muscles . Eileen would have been impressed. She'd always had a taste for buff guys. Probably,the reason she got together with the lawyer who defended my case.

Ah!,Eileen,might as well forget her.She did come here the next day after I got sentenced and broke up with me.
Did I blame her though?
Not at all,but now I do regret been so naive when I was young,yelling my lungs out the lyrics of that song-the song about a guy asking his girlfriend if she'd abandon him if he was sent to prison.

Last I heard of Eileen, she'd married the lawyer and they have a daughter now.

Anytime,I mentioned the past or gave myself a little peek into the past,I felt nostalgic–a bitter kind of nostalgia.

Don't we all?

But being in prison is not the best place to become nostalgic, there's no means of escape and if you're like me whose past is filled with nothing but skeletons dipped in regret and shame, you'll grab hard labor if it was thrown at you.

I hate the past but I hate thinking about the past more. The memories were like a kindled fire, slowly emitting sparks from the start but before I knew it,it became blazing and scorching as if dependent on my frustration to exist.

And trust me, I've tried to plead my way into hard labor when trying to make it make sense wasn't working on the police men.
My incessant pleas have done nothing but only irritate the police men and now they're beginning to think I have a hidden agenda behind my pleas.
At this rate, I'm slowly becoming a mentally ill prisoner.

I guess my jail mate's prayers are working. He did tell me he'd being praying against this ever since I suggested the idea to the police men. He claimed he'll be lonely if I did so well and got off good behavior.
I only offer snippets of words to the guy,what is he talking about?
So far,my argument with him only consisted of my buff same replies of "I disagree" each time he said hard labor with jail time was the absolute worst.

Okay, I've gone off topic.

But bear with me,I have time and you did read on.

I heard a story when I was young about a boy who was bored and mischievous to the point he on three occasions raised an alarm that a wolf was on the verge of attacking his sheep. On two of the occasions,farmers came to his aid clutching weapons to chase the wolf off and on those two occasions,they hurried to the boy only to find out he was playing a prank on them.
But on the third occasion,the wolf did come,the boy as usual raised an alarm but no one came and the wolf ended up devouring his sheep.

I wasn't present when The Boy Cried Wolf but I was when a boy devised a plan with his friends to bully his younger brother so he could stand up for him and be the hero.

I wasn't present when the Boy Cried Wolf but he and I had did things we wished we could revert. Everyone had opinions, everyone judged similarly about the Boy Who Cried Wolf and I but only we knew why we did what we did.
And just like the boy who cried wolf's story came to life so that you and I could do with it and learn from it what we wanted,so is mine.

My bedside jailmate barges into our shared room breathless disrupting my thoughts. He looks shell shocked,opens his mouth and closes it and repeats the action again.

"Spill it or shut it", I give him a bored look.

"An inmate ...drowned... ....shower ...on purpose..."

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Hey guys,

I've had this idea for sometime now but never had the courage to bring it out but this is a new year and with a new year comes with a new attitude of sticking to what you believe in and not being afraid to show the world what exactly it is.

So,yeah this is the first chapter of Behind Bars!

PS: The song spoken about in the story is above incase anyone wanted to know.