Just something I've been working on.Please feel free to comment, I need all the help.
Exactly 1873 days is how long it has been since I’ve been locked up in this jail cell, 1873 days since I’ve committed a crime, 1873 days since my family looked at me like they didn’t know me at all. 1873 days has passed but I still could never forget the look on my mom and dad’s face as the police took me away. The hurt in their eyes, their pain, it makes me want to cry every time I think about it, but I’ve grown numb to all feelings. After years of this hellhole, I’ve learned to be stronger by myself.
My cell is a small square, with cement walls and a metal door in the front, like any other cells, there are exactly five things in here, a bed, that isn’t very comfortable, with a little drawer on the side, to keep my few personal things, a toilet, a sink and a poster of a cat hanging on a tree saying “Hang in there”, easy for you to say, you are not the one stuck in here, I thought every time I look at the picture. And of course, on one corner of the ceiling, right over my bed, is the eye of the guards. The red blinking light of the camera stares down on me, recording my every move.
I pace around my cell, waiting for the horn to blow. It’s the only time of day I get go outside, to have sweats running down my face as I run laps around the field, to smell the fresh air, as I breath it in, and to clear my mind of parent’s haunting faces…
The horn brought me back to my cell; well at least, I thought, I’m actually going to experience those feelings for real, even though it’s only for an hour.
The door of my prison clicked open the exact same time as the others did. We walk in a straight line, a well-practiced line, through the corridor, passing other cells, to open air.
The courtyard isn’t very big. There is a corner for basketball, with a few almost flat out balls, some benches to sit on and a small track field.
I headed straight for the track field. I like how it relieves me of worries, and at the same time reminds me of my old life - even though there isn’t much I remember.
As I reached the starting point, I altered my stance, resting my weight on one leg. Looking down, I took in a deep breath, and out. In and out. In and out. Finally, I gazed up as I shot through the field. Placing my leg in front, one after the other. I ran around the small track, feeling my chest rise and fall, as it tries to take in more air. I used to run often before coming here. I remember running through trees. I remember the earthy smell from the ground, a splash of water and the sound of birds. I remember running with someone, a boy. The details of his face has become fuzzy to me, like a forgotten dream, but the emotions that comes along with the memory always leaves me more breathless than running. The warm fuzzy feelings I feel whenever I’m reminded of my old life can only be identified as - happy. But “happy” in reality has become foreign, they used to exist in my dreams, but my dreams has turned into nightmares and my nightmares has turned into reality.