Ever wonder what it’s like to be born in a prison? Its hell, living hell, that’s what I say, and my mother said giving birth in a prison is worse; they left her in the cell during the whole thing. She said they were even tempted to whip her while it happened. Said the screaming was too loud, even for such cruel men as the warden and his followers. Mother never did a damned thing wrong, and yet they threw her in prison while she was pregnant. And even now, with mother gone, I’m still stuck here, even though I never crossed the warden, or his men, yet they keep me here. It must be illegal, keeping a woman and her newborn baby in prison, but the men don’t care, never did. I don’t exist as far as the people are concerned, the warden said that mother and I died during birth. We’re dead to the world, but someday, when I get away from this place, the world will know my face, will know the truth about mother, the very first thing I’ll tell them, that I am Thomas, son of Jessica Chren, alleged murderer, said to be lost during childbirth.
*
As I look around this place, I wonder why man ever felt the need to have places like this, to be this cruel. Dusty, rotten smell fills my nostrils with every breath, as if there’s a month dead man in the next cell, rotting. For all I know, there is. The walls are stone, I’ve tried to break through a thousand times, but to no avail, this place is hardwired for escape artists, only a genius could escape. Anyone who got out would be caught anyway, guards surround the place. If by some miracle you get past them, they have direct orders to shoot all escapees. Screams of pain and terror echo through the halls, men, women, children, tortured to death, even once their dead, even when the screams fade, they still echo in the ears of the survivors, those luckless enough to survive another day never forget the screams of their comrades, never lose the memory.
If the torture doesn’t kill you, the food will, I swear they put poison in it just to make us more miserable, I quit counting the days, the warden tells us every Sunday what the date is, and he knows all out birthdays, has all our birth certificates. You get special treatment on your birthday, not the usual whiplashes, full blown, inescapable pain. And today is my special day, January 25th, time for the stretcher, my 15th birthday present. As the men come in, I try to remember my happy place, in mother’s arms, on the beach. It’s fake, but it helps. Except on my birthday, the only day they can replace mother’s arms with the stone cold grip of the stretcher.
“Come on Tom, my boy, this isn’t at all your type of spirit; usually you are a bit happy on your birthday, special treatment!” They wrench me to my feet, but the pain of their well-muscled hands on my arms is nothing compared to where I’m going.
There is a dead man in the next cell, he’s lying on the floor, and the men holding me complain at the sight,
“They ought to get rid of him; he’s long dead by now.” The one on my right, a blond, groans in reply,
“It adds to the atmosphere, ya know, rotting smell, dead meat…” The drag me past cell after cell, and older people stare at me sympathetically, while tiny children cry about the last man who past their cell, something about his eyeballs popping out. Then more screams erupt as a girl about my age is pulled from a cell, her short cropped brown hair is matted into a tangle of threads, and her blue eyes are dull with fear,
“Meet the birthday girl, her first time, better tell her what’s gonna happen Tom!” The men all started laughing hysterically, and the girl looks at me in horror,
“Tom, meet Lydia, our good old newbie, turning fifteen just like you! Same birthday and all.” There in front of us was the stretcher room, no screams from in there now, but soon Lydia and I would add to the chorus. The men jerk us in, and Lydia is latched onto the second stretcher,
“How about we just watch lovely Lydia have her first birthday present together Tom? It’ll add to the experience!” Blondie pushes a button on the end, and Redhead snickers something nasty about women. Lydia seems to know what is happening as the cuffs around her arms and legs pull away from each other, and in moments, the screams begin, as soon as she starts, Blondie pushes the button again, and Lydia is trapped in the stretcher, her body being stretched from one end to the other, knowing that pain, and hearing her screams, I struggle against Redhead’s grip, but he punches me hard in the stomach and forces me to watch Lydia as her bloodcurdling screams fill the air. After a few minutes, Blondie pushes the button again, and after the stretchers pulls out another half inch, Lydia’s screams become unbearable to hear, and Blondie pushes the button again, locking her into position, smiling wider with every scream.
Suddenly enraged by his glee, I shove Redhead off me, and his head smacks into the wall with a sickening thud. Blondie shoves me onto the other stretcher before I can fight back, and I kick out as he latches my arms in place. He doesn’t even have to strain a bit to latch my flailing legs to the other end of the stretcher. I can feel the tracks along which the stretcher rolls, and fear floods me, dulling my common sense. I begin to struggle, but the stretcher is too strong and it is futile. Lydia’s screams pierce my fear, and I wonder if she will even make it through this.
I see Blondie press a button by my forehead, and I feel the stretcher pulling my arms and legs away from each other. I try to go to my happy place, but in moments I find myself screaming along with her. I watch out of my pain-blurred eyes as Lydia is stretched another half inch. The stretcher can still go another inch, and I fear Lydia won’t make it that long.
Pain wracks my body and Lydia’s screams fade away as I try to flee from the pain. My vision blurs so badly I can no longer see. I feel the stretcher pulling me further, then stopping. My screams are amusement for Blondie, but Redhead probably hasn’t come to yet, I’ll pay for that one, I bet.
Then the pain begins to fade, and Blondie wrenches me from the stretcher, and I’m dragged back to my cell. It’s only moments before I black out.