White Walls

Write 250 words inspired by the colors of the walls around you.

Penitentiary isn’t what I imagined. Neither is solitary. The brightness of the walls are hurting my eyes even with them closed. I was almost expecting a straight jacket and padded walls; Instead, it was a 6 x 9 brick cage painted white. I had one twin bed with springs that cut into my spine when I lay down.

They give me a pen, paper, and 3,116 days more to reflect. I think their intent was to make me regret what I did, but it’s just the opposite. It makes me want to do it all over again. I want to do it again and again and again  until that cord in my brain snaps. Until I see the blood on my hands through the eyes of the innocent. Only then, will I understand how inhumane I’ve become.

Voices scream so loudly in my head, I’m almost willing to bash my own skull to remove them myself. Dig through the vessels with my fingernails and rip out the noises that never seem to die. If I can’t kill what’s inside me, at least I can kill what’s around me.

There’s nothing like the first time; the adrenaline when they fight back, some are so strong it’s admirable; the thrill of the possibility of getting caught, only the two of us will know what happened that night, silencing their screams that drown out the ones in my head, and watching how delicately the tears slip into their blood, morphing together as one. 

*Photo Credit*

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