A Prison Thanksgiving

November 10, 2010  11:45 p.m.

            Your letters often rescue me from self destruction, I swear I owe you more than you know!  Yesterday morning, one of the rare mornings I’m in the dayroom (came back from the library) I’m sitting, talking to this guy, watching Good Morning America, or the Early Show or one of those types, awaiting the Rachael Ray Show (who I adore!), who had Julianna Margulies (The Good Wife – E.R.) who is beautiful as well, as a guest, when this moron changes the station.  Okay, no big deal, except they only open the doors to the cells every few hours and I’d just missed my opportunity to go in.  So I said so (to the guy I was talking to) and this idiot (that changed the channel) starts telling me about how they watch this certain program every morning.  (Now, picture a 38 year old black man, muscular, tattooed all over, over animated, trying to explain to me why he put the TV on Telemundo.)  (:  “So what.  I don’t care what you want to watch.  I just wish I’d have gone in my cell, and I wasn’t talking to you!”  He tells me that I shouldn’t speak up on it if I didn’t care, as if he’d not understood a word I’d just spoken.  Now I’m pissed.  I told him, “Hey, I’m a grown f***ing man with kids!  You can run this TV, run this prison, but you don’t run me.  It’s my prerogative to say what the hell I want to say!”  He walked off, mumbling like a girl, and Issac, the white guy I’d been talking to, grabs my arm.  “Jason, forget him.  They’ll jump you or stab you.  Just let it go.”

            But I didn’t let it go.  I let it fester.  Several hours later when the guard told me I wasn’t on the list to go to college classes, I flipped out.  Once it was all straightened out, I apologized to the officer, but was still angry at the inmate who’s a Crip and thinking about taking a chance getting jumped or stabbed when I got two letters.  One from my uncle and one from you.  Both were kind and encouraging, causing me to pray for guidance and giving thanks for you both.  Gotta let my pride go or it’s going to get me killed.  But you brought me back to peaceful reality.  Thank you.

            How are you?  It’s taking the mail room so long to get your mail to me, it’s dated by the time I get it.  The letter yesterday 11-9-10 was posted 11-01-10.  But thank God they didn’t send it all over the state like on the other cell block.

            Yeah, I went on the dreaded hospital trip last week.  The trip was awful, cold, uncomfortable and discouraging.  It took me almost a full week to recover and find myself.  But I’m glad now.  (:  I put off the scope until the end of December.  Not ready to go back to crutches!

When no one else seems to care,

I know I’ll hear from you!

            I never think you forget me.  When no one else seems to care, I know I’ll hear from you!  (:  And although I always write you, tell your husband that he’s special to me, too. (:  You guys have done so much for me and have been such good friends!

            So glad that you were “thrilled” to hear from me.  I try.  (:  Anything I can do to be a friend and return the kindness and sincerity that you give so unselfishly.  Really glad I have the energy to write.  I wasn’t aware of how lazy I’d been until I started back working out.

            You know what?  My mom had actually told me the truth!  Yeah, the hateful lady that I’d talked to about my account is the one who lied, let me to believe I had no money, planted the seed of doubt, I watered it and grew panic berries.  It wasn’t enough for me to put my plan into action, but it was a start and I’m doing better than most everyone else on the cell block.  They want to borrow on credit.  Ha!  I can’t eat credit.  Like I’d trust one of these guys, who lie for entertainment?

            Actually, the aunt I vent to is my Godmother, kinda a spiritual advisor and my mom’s baby sister.  I’ve lived with her and she knows me better than most.  The aunt who listed me on the (SOC) webpage is very emotional and has just resumed writing me.  She kept me as a baby, then again when I had mono.  She is Creole like all of us but looks white.

            So far the lockdown rumor has been just that, a rumor.  But I trade books I’ve read for one’s that I have not read.  Plus I go to the library.  Every once in a while, my grandmother will go to a discount/used bookstore and send me a stack of books which I devour way too soon.  This last lockdown, they let us go to class, but usually they don’t.  I guess because we pay for college, they can’t keep us from going.

            Oh, the Broncos.  Goodness!  We don’t see many of their games because of the broadcasting regions, but I wonder how Orton can throw for all those yards and they still lose?  The Texans are sapping the life out of my season.  They find a way to lose games, which is frustrating.  True, the secondary is horrible, but the offense can score.  To me, it’s bad coaching.  I want Kubiak fired, like last season!  He’s not a good coach and he doesn’t have heart. The only reason they keep him is because G.M. Rick Smith is from the Broncos, too.  But at least we aren’t as bad as the Cowgirls!  And I’ve still got my Saints.

            You sound very happy to have your computer back.  (:  Funny how we become attached to things, huh?  But it gives you an outlet, keeps you busy.  I don’t blame you, not having it is like not having your job.

            Well, gonna put this one in the wind.  Take care!

Sincerely,

I woke up at 4:37 a.m.

to the sounds of yelling.

November 16, 2010  9:00 p.m.

            I guess this is my official “thank you for the bonus letter.”  (:  It’s an attempt anyhow.  I’m sooo tired, but wanted to at least put some words on paper to you before I passed out.

            It has been such an excruciatingly long day, you wouldn’t believe it!  You’d think that the days are longer and the nights shorter instead of the other way around.  I woke up at 4:37 a.m. to the sounds of yelling.  (They’re always yelling!)  ):   But it’s usually pretty peaceful in the wee hours.  This morning they did random drug tests and you can imagine the fuss that caused, probably because half of the cell block is dirty.

            Thank God I gave all that up, just stopped and didn’t want to escape like that anymore, so I don’t worry about drug tests.  I don’t drink or even smoke cigarettes (everyone smokes).  But I couldn’t go back to sleep.  Then I had an appointment in the infirmary at 7:00 a.m. but didn’t see a nurse until 1:00 p.m.  It was tiring.  Then I had school, then they didn’t feed us until 8:30, so I just walked in.  But I walked in, and I’m writing to you so I’m smiling.  (:  And with that, I’m going to sleep (right after I bathe) hopefully tomorrow will hold better news.

December 1, 2010  4:53 p.m.

            Well, it’s really been too long since I’ve written you!  As you know, there was a month between commissary trips and with about a week to go, I ran out of stamps, envelopes and ink pens!  ):  And if you don’t know by now, I hate asking people for stuff, I’m independent to a fault.  Plus, favors just aren’t a good idea in here.  You may borrow a few sheets of paper that will cost you several dollars in the long run, or a fight.

            So I just roughed it.  (:  Made commissary last Tuesday, but I’ve been so busy that you wouldn’t believe it!  I just wrote my mom last night.  I wanted to do my cakes and I’ve been doing them, to the fifth power.  Last night was the first full night of sleep I got since last Monday.  My plan is working though, so I can’t complain.  (:

A few guys bought all the stuff for

gumbo, I cooked that and cheesecake.

            I had to write a thesis paper for my English class as well.  Just been busy.  But for friends, we make time.  (:  So here I am.

            How was your turkey day?  The weather?  It had been unseasonably warm here and got cold on Thanksgiving Day and has pretty much stayed that way.  I had a pretty good Thanksgiving though, despite the circumstances.

            A few guys bought all the stuff for gumbo, I cooked that and cheesecake which came out great!  We watched football, yelled a bunch, then waited for Sunday and did it again.  My Saints pulled off a win in Dallas and the Texans spanked the Titans.  Now, I don’t know what’s wrong with the Broncos, but they put up a fight.  They are like the Cowboys, all that talent and just can’t win.

            Yes, I did enjoy the newspaper.  Your paper is very thorough and detailed.  A lot of Texas papers just touch on this and that but don’t really go into great detail.  When I was on the other cell block, we had ESPN and I saw plenty of Woody Paige on a show called Around the Horn.  He’s a silly dude.  The pictures of the girls playing with clay shot me back to my own childhood.  I was weird.  I liked the smell of Playdough.  I remember one time my mom and I made some from scratch and I tried to eat some since it was made from flour.  Yuck!  Talk about salty!

            No, no lockdown.  Thank God.

            Banana cake sounds delicious!  You get so tired of eating the same crap in here.  Right now, I’ve got four pieces of chicken (deboned) cooking in my hot pot, seasoned with crushed basil and rosemary, fresh onions, chives and peppers, ranch dressing and spicy brown mustard.  This guy brought in a bunch of fresh vegetables from the fields, so I put it to work.  It’s good to taste different things now and then.  Oh yeah, cilantro too!  I love cilantro, it has such a clean taste, like parsley but spicy. (:

            My family all got together for Thanksgiving too, and although I’ve not heard from anyone yet, I can just imagine my mom, who is a diehard Saints fan, screaming while my youngest uncles (Cowboy fans) yell and holler.  We always eat a lot of food too.  Gumbo, jambalaya, dirty rice, meat pies, fried turkey, honey baked hams, smoked turkey, boudain, beer sausage, back strap, squash casserole, broccoli casserole, green bean casserole, cornbread stuffing, sweet potato pies, pumpkin pies, 7-up cakes, butter pound cakes, blueberry cheesecake, strawberry cheesecake, peach cobbler, oven rolls, hog cracklin'…we eat!  Then we eat Belgium waffles, fresh fruit salad, and leftovers for breakfast the next day.  That’s when my mom makes more meat pies and her famous pecan pralines.  Growing up, all of my friends and girlfriends would end up at my aunt’s house.  And we do even more for Christmas.

10:45 p.m.

            Had to run out of the cell, then when I came back, I washed and bleached my floor.  Just finished eating and I’m so full!  It was good though.  No way I could eat all of that, so I fed my neighbors on both sides.  The guy in 30 cell is an old Spanish dude, he doesn’t speak English or go to commissary so I don’t mind giving him something from time to time.  He’s a sweet old guy though.  I think I surprise him because of the language barrier, he doesn’t know me or my background and culture.  He probably thinks I‘m a young black dude like all the rest, and in here, the races don’t really intermingle.  To hell with their codes and rules, I do what feels right.

            That food made me drowsy.  My spelling is so awful.  Anyhow, I still have one more letter to respond to.  That means you’ll get another letter from me following that one.  (:  For now, though, I better bundle up and get some sleep.  The temp is dropping by the second and those screws or whatever is in my knee disagree with cold weather.  Thanks for all the hugs and warm wishes!  Plenty back your way!

Sincerely,

Thanks for all the hugs and warm wishes!

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I Die Slow

Another part of me died tonight.  I watched helplessly while a man was beaten stupid and bloody.  Sure, he’ll recover, possible endure a few more such beatings, but the withered portion of my soul deceased, can never be retrieved.  I mourn.  And the saddest part of it all is, it’s no big deal.  Life goes on.

So why do I feel so powerless?  True enough, the beatee is Hispanic and it is unwritten that we are enemies, which is supremely stupid.  In my eyes though, he is a human being, someone’s son, brother, father… a person.  Still, it is a Cardinal Sin within these walls to mind the business of others.  You see and don’t see, hear and don’t hear, and never speak on what you can’t back up  For me to have spoken up or God forbid, gone to his aid, I would be the catalyst in a race riot that would most likely end up with me as a shank pin cushion.

Perhaps this is not purgatory, but a place lower than hell.  Where else in civilization do grown men of 30, 40, 50 years of age walk around trying to punch through human skulls, puncturing lungs with sharpened spikes or rebar, and cleaning craniums with fan motors, they play a game of dominoes, cook, eat and enjoy a meal only upset by the blood on their shoes?  Oh that’s right, I’m in prison.  There is no civilization.  These conditions are common, encouraged and expected.  No big deal.  If I valued my life, I wouldn’t have been caught up in the streets.   Right?  There is no rehabilitation, only recurring madness.

This place is like an iron and concrete playground where infantile men in hardened shells strike and joust, sometimes to the death.  It’s common, condoned and accepted, a part of everyday life in here.  Yet, every time I bear witness to the savagery in which a man is beaten down, deteriorated into stupefied submission or unconsciousness, something in me expires.  Worse, I too am capable of uncouth brutality when threatened.  Am I no better than my “peers” because I refuse to be the victim?  I’m not sure, but I take solace in the fact that I’m never the antagonist, just a man with more heart than sense.

Inside, nothing is as it should be or is outside.  These bricks house iniquity, wickedness and malice like a kiln baking it all into a grand evil, unimaginable to society on the outside looking in.  Far too often I’m reminded that I’ve been reduced from a man to a number, hands bound squirming, too busy trying to save me to help the next man.

What are my options?  Daunting, I assure you.  Does a colostomy bag worn to visit with my daughter make me a hero or dumb ass?  The bigger question:  if the tables were turned, who would come to my aid?  Perhaps in my heart I know the answer, so I choose to stand witness, dying a piece at a time instead of all at once in a blaze of chivalrous stupidity.  

Regardless, I always end up a little less of the man I was.  Talk about a losing battle.

How Do You Wash Clothes in a Cell?

October 19, 2010  10:40 p.m.

Wow! 

          Haven’t you been a busy bee lately!  With all you do, I don’t know how you find the time to write me so often, but I’m glad you do. (:  You can’t imagine the smiles and positive thoughts you inspire.  Today’s letter especially made me feel good!  You know, a pure joy, where you catch yourself with a big goofy toothy smile on your face and you don’t even care how silly you look?  Thank you.

          However, I’ve got some catching up to do, so let me start from the beginning and respond to your letters in the order that they were received.  The first one is dated Oct. 4.

          As always, great photos!  One reminds me of my own baby girl, Jaycy Krystyne (yeah her mother insisted on naming her after me, but my son’s named after me already so she was creative.  It fits her though).  My little boy couldn’t say “Jaycy Krystyne” when she was born, and his attempts sounded like “Jelly Bean,” so that’s what she goes by.  That was very fitting when she was an infant because she was a chubby baby.  Anyhow, when I saw the picture of your granddaughter holding a pumpkin that’s nearly as big as her, I thought of Jaycy.

          Wasn’t sure I’d get to this tonight. I washed clothes for two hours, though it felt like forever!  ):  My fingertips are all pruned.  Makes me think of when I was little and would stay in the tub until my toes and fingers were wrinkled.  And isn’t it amazing the amount of dirt that comes off a little person?  My mom and aunts would complain about it when I was a child.  Then I got to see what they meant when I had children of my own.  Goodness!  Sometimes I’d have to drain the tub and run fresh water for my two youngest.  They would magically get so filthy that a bubble bath would become milky grey, not that they’d notice or care.  Kids.     

          My mom worked full time, sometimes taking on part time job as well.  I still did band, played football, basketball, golf, ran track and was on student council, but my mom was rarely able to see me play.  Most evenings, I got a ride with the parents of a friend, or I walked to keep from having to explain to coaches why my ride had not shown up.  Back then, it was a hard pill to swallow, but in hindsight, I’m thankful for the sacrifices she made to provide for us.    

         Well, as you probably already know we are out of lockdown since the first days of October.  It feels good to be able to move around.  Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my peace and solitude, but not by force.  They run outside recreation two or three times a day when the weather allows it, but I rarely go outside for many reasons.  Mainly because of the temperature extremes.  It’s either really hot, or really cold, and you’re stuck for two hours.  Not cool.  Also, the ground out there is uneven, and I fear trusting my balance.  Plus, the gangs meet out there and discuss the current drama, who’s going to jump who, who’s going to stab who…I stay away from the nonsense.  True, the weights are out there, but I’d rather work out in my cell in peace, where I can bath right afterwards.

          I know, I know, I’ll explain.  I had so much washing to do, because I wash my own clothes.  Sure, everyone washes their own socks, boxers, t-shirts, shorts and long johns, but I wash my state issued pants and shirt everyday as well.  Most people just change theirs out Monday, Wednesday and Friday in the morning at shower.  I want my clothes clean every day, so I do it myself.  I don’t go to showers either.

          The showers here are community showers, 50-60 naked guys standing next to each other, chit chatting, rushing to get clean in warm water, standing in slow draining runoff and the officers cut the water off in two to three minutes.  Then, it’s cold because the vents are pulling in air from outside.  Then, they are going to give you a dingy set of clothes that don’t fit.  It’s a filthy and very homosexual experience.  I opt to bathe in my cell.

The toilet is all important! 

It’s the washer, the tub, and of course,

the toilet.  Keep it clean is a must!

         

          How?  Our cells are much like the one you saw in the picture in the article you sent me, but slightly smaller.  There are two bunks against the wall, a desk in the back corner, a stainless steel toilet/sink combo on the back wall and lockers and shelves overhead at the cell’s entrance.  The toilet is all important!  It’s the washer, the tub, and of course, the toilet.  Keep it clean is a must!  As is bleach, which is illegal and considered contraband.  Yes, one must break some rules to survive.  Laundry workers steal the bleach, which means the clothes don’t get clean (we wear white tops and pants), then they sell it for food or stamps or cigarettes, which are illegal too.  I keep my cell very clean, and use my hot pot for hot water to bathe and rinse with.  I know, when I first got here, I said I would never adapt!  But when you look at the alternative….  Hope I explained well?  Prison life is crazy.  To dry the clothes, I wring them out and hang them on a clothesline of white tennis shoe strings and aim my fan up at them, fold them and lay them under my mat to press and crease them.      

          If we had mental telepathy, I’d never speak to these people

          Funny you mention the dentist.  About ten years ago, one of my lower molars cracked while chewing ice.  Well, I was later eating some roasted pumpkin seeds and one stabbed down into that tooth!  Ouch!  Talk about pain!  It got infected, the right side of my face swole up like the elephant man and I went to the dentist.  They told me I had an abscess and sent me to the emergency room.  Several antibiotic and hydrocones later, I got the tooth filled.

          Yeah, the Broncos pulled it off against a good Tennessee team, but the Ravens were too much.  I figured they’d bounce back, but they lost again this Sunday.  Hopefully they’ll get it together soon.  The bright side is San Diego isn’t playing well, K.C. is over-rated and Oakland is awful.  So there’s hope.  At least they are better than Dallas!  They are just pitiful!

          You must be very patient.  I’m computer literate, but my patience with computers is limited.  When that stupid little box starts popping up on the screen, it drives me wild!  I couldn’t imagine trying to hunt down files that don’t want to be found.  Good thing for the Geek Squad, huh?  (:  Glad they could help.  My brother works tech support for Dell.  I don’t like laptops either, they mess with my eyes.

          My leg is better.  I’m so happy to go without the cane, I dread the upcoming surgery.  I’ll have to go back to crutches for a while and lose my new freedom.

          There is no rodeo on this unit (like in the article you sent me), but it sounds like fun…maybe.  There are other things to do, but reading is my thing because it’s personal and it provides an escape.  I get to explore new worlds and cultures instead of dwelling on prison.  Guys in the dayroom play dominoes, Scrabble, chess and checkers.  I avoid all of that.  Too much cursing, gambling, fighting….just negativity.  It would appall you.  I’m not perfect, but these guys take crude to a new level.  They call each other “bitches, “hoes,” “d***suckers”…anything you can imagine, with a smile.  I don’t play that crap.  They talk to the women and men officers like that.  Horse play, expose themselves to one another and women officers for gratification….it’s that bad.  This place is a zoo.  I hate to be associated with these clowns.

          Well, I almost made it.  Only one more letter to respond to, but I’m tired.  I’ll probably finish up tomorrow.  Still, I’m going to go ahead and send this out so you know that I’m thinking of you.  Also, I thank you very much for your letter to the warden.  I haven’t got to that letter yet, but I want you to feel appreciated.

          Hope you are able to read my chicken scratch without straining your eyes too bad.  (:  Like I said, I’ll finish up tomorrow and send that letter as well.  Take care!

October 21, 2010  11:33 p.m.

          I’m really going to have to come up with something better than “dear” to start my letters.  “Dearest” would sound like I’m trying to woo you and “dear” sounds way too generic.  Don’t know.  I’ll come up with something.

          “Hey!” is pretty good.  Sounds enthusiastic.  (:  How are ya?  Sorry I didn’t get to this yesterday as planned.  I found out that my mom, again let me down, and I was pretty upset about it.  So I wrote my aunt a very emotional and self revealing letter because I needed to vent.  I hold way too much in.  Anyhow, I didn’t want to write you from that place, so I put it off.

          Yeah, my mom is great, loves me a lot.  We have a kind of brother sister closeness.  Two times in a row, she’s said she’s sending money and hasn’t done it.  That hurts my feelings.  I mean, why lie?  Just say you can’t.

          Anyhow, she’s always got these real crappy excuses, and it just gets old.  Not to imply that anyone owes me anything, but I depend greatly on that outside help, and when it’s not there, it makes my situation that much harder.  It’s especially bad when you tell me that you’re going to do something on this day and don’t do it.  I know things are tough out there….it’s hard to explain.

          Here I am, all excited about this great business plan and strategy which will gain me some independence and a positive and creative outlet, now I can’t make good on that plan.  Worse, we go to commissary here on the 27th, then we don’t go again until two days before Thanksgiving.  Plus, we are going back on some sort of lockdown for 21 days.  I’m going to be starving.

          Oh well, guess I’ve got to suck it up and take it like a man.  I’m just tired of climbing out of the hole.  I finally come up with a surefire plan to stay afloat and I can’t even put it into action.  I wish Texas paid its inmates to work.  But I can’t even get these people to give me a free non-paying job, so…

          Ach!  I hate being in these pitiful moods, so I won’t.  Gotta give it to God.  Unburden my soul.  (:  Drawing smiley faces makes me feel smiley on the inside.  I actually smile when I draw one as if acting it out.  I’m so silly.

          I had an imaginary friend names Gabie Gabie.  Now…this is funny, because I don’t know how to spell it.  (:  I’ve never actually thought about the spelling of it.  Ga-be Ga-be.  You know, like the baby sound “ga-ga,” but ga-be, like …“Bobbie.”  I know not where I got if from.  I think the video game “Pac-man,” and my mind took flight with it.  Ga-be Ga-be was who I blamed when I got in trouble.  He wasn’t Black or White that I can remember, but he drove a red moped and was 17 years old.  Where he went when I turned six, who knows.  Maybe my uncle Mike didn’t allow imaginary friends?  I’ll have to ask my aunt what they did with him.  (I make it sound like a missing person’s case.) (:

Yes, the roaches here are

out of control!

Glad you are “delighted” to hear from me.  I do try to be very pleasant and charming, (: but matching your kindness is no easy fete.  You exude warm cookies and ice cold milk.  A maternal fondness that is natural and cannot be taught.

          Do you know that I just realized where the words “Ma” and “Pa” come from-- Maternal and Paternal.  Duh?  The magic of the mind.

          Yes, the roaches here are out of control!  I despise roaches!!  I don’t even like people with roach qualities and characteristics.  The roaches in the kitchen are bad because they are the small bold roaches that do not fear humans and will crawl on you.  UGH!!  However, although the cockroaches that live on the cell blocks are wary of humans and only come out at night, they are huge, fast and frightening!  I’m talking two and three inch long roaches that crack and pop when stepped on and still don’t die.  They stink too.

          Did you know that roaches trigger asthma attacks, especially in infants?  Yep, something to do with the odor that they give off.  My mom didn’t tolerate roaches and I don’t either.  My kids would scream if they saw a roach.  I sprayed the counters and all surfaces down with bleach water every night, no eating all over the house, vacuum regularly, zero tolerance.

          Ha!  The warden is not on my “favorite people” list right now.  He didn’t keep his word and I have not seen him in over two weeks.  Most of my frustration stems from that.  I’m so sick of being lied to.  Who am I that no one will tell me the truth?  Feels like I’m at the center of a bad conspiracy.  ):  Regardless, your note was awesome.  Thank you!  I hope he got it and felt really, really low.

          Yes, you remember the fattening no-bake cake recipe I sent you?  Those cakes, other guys use other recipes and shapes and sizes, but I’m hands down the best.  Ask Cornelius.  Out of 3,000 inmates, my reputation for cooking exceeds all others.

          Unfortunately, mom let me down this time, unless she wires it between now and Tuesday before we go to commissary.  That’s such an awful feeling, going to the window with the list full of stuff and giving the woman your card only to have her hand it back and shoo you away, empty handed.  Kinda like being in the grocery store, having them ring up a basket full of groceries and the cashier tells you that your debit card isn’t working.  The people behind you look at your kids with pity, then at you with scornful judgment.  I actually had that happen to me once.  Turns out that my debit card was scrambled/demagnetized from sitting on a speaker.  Didn’t make it less embarrassing or easier to explain to the kids.

          Yes, despite the small pitfalls, I’m doing pretty good.  Trying to keep a positive attitude and good health.

          The Broncos, I think I talked about them in the letter a few days back.  I think they’ll pull through.  I thought for sure that they’d win last Sunday, but Cutler had his worst game of the season.  They don’t seem to miss Brandon Marshall much.  Yeah, bad coaching seems to be the trend around the league this year.  The Patriots’ coach and the Cowboys’ coach are competing for the Bad Coach Award.

          This semester I could only afford to take one class.  ):  Money is always at the root!  But I’m doing really good.  It’s English 1302, creative writing.  I have a 95 average.  Of course, despite my handwriting and spelling, English is my strong point, especially creative writing.

          No, when I spoke to Warden S, his goons (officers) were surrounding me (they hate for inmates to approach rank for fear you’ll tell how corrupt they are) and I didn’t have a chance to bring the property up.  When mom shows up for a visit, I’m going to sic her on him.  She’ll feel guilty and put on her aggressive charm.   He’ll fold.  She can be a pit bull in a skirt.

          Well, therapy at 7:00 a.m.  Better get some rest. Take care!

Sincerely,

Your letters often rescue me from

self destruction. I swear, I owe you

more than you know!

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Running

I’m running—always running, out of breath, panting, chest tight, grimace against the pain.  Run!  Run and never stop.  Feet pounding the pavement, wheezing raggedly, sweat cascading, stinging my eyes, wet like a balm on my face, my body slick and radiating heat, trembling.  Run.  Run dammit!

What lies in front of me is a mystery, my destination unknown, but what lurks behind…no…whatever waits ahead of me can’t be as horrible as what’s behind.

Tired…I’m so, so tired…it never tires though.  I run, it slinks, creeps, but is always right there, always right behind me.  Sometimes I want to give up, stop and wait for it, face it.  Fear overcomes the aches of my muscles, instinct keeps my legs pumping.  Right foot, left foot, don’t break stride, don’t slow down.  Go!  Run!  It’s gaining.

Feels like a fire’s raging in my chest, humming, intense burning.  Temples throbbing, vision hazy, shake it off.  Run.  Curiosity.  No resist it.  Glancing back over my shoulder.

Fangs bared, long jagged fangs, bloodstained.  Hideous!  Putrid breath, the stink of decaying flesh, carnage.  Those eyes!  Dear God in heaven…those awful eyes, bulbous, black, pupil-less, solid black, bottomless, inky depths, eternal darkness…the eyes of death.

Gaining, closer…so tired.  Too tired.  Stopping.  Stopped, giving up, exhausted, can’t run anymore, doubled over, hands on my knees, gasping, too tired to fight.  Ready.  Praying…”God be with me…”

Approaching, slowing down.  Hideous, the face of darkness, stopping, chest heaving, winded, glaring at me balefully.  Such hate in those eyes.

Terrified, frozen in place, watching death, waiting.  Not willing, ready.  Ready.

Still glaring at me, catching his breath, snarling, drooling, something in his clawed hand…shiny, a knife, no…smaller…reaching for me…glaring.

Repulsed, leaning away from him-- his outstretched hand.  Afraid…too tired to run.  Ready.

Snarling.  “God…god…goddamn, man…man, you’re fast.”  Standing straight, tall, bully, huge.  Reaching for me.

Ready. 

“Here man,” holding out his clawed hand.  “You dropped this.”  Hand open, flesh rending claws, something shiny in palm.

Scared, confused, tentative, staring …reaching trying not to touch him, mind racing.  Taking…small…golden…a key.  A Key?

Glaring, walking backwards, slinking, smiling, awful, malicious.  “I’ll see you around.”  Still smiling, smiling wickedly, smiling knowingly.  Leaving, turning, creeping, quickly.  A trick?  No…letting me live.

Trembling, key in my hand, smooth, old engraved, eyes straining.  Six letters, barely big enough to read…”FUTURE.”