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Written by NicWit in portal Letters From Prison

Buddy System Plan

How it could work, advantages to prison custody officers, etc.


Background info: I have been to HMP Peterborough 5 times and when I came in on my very first prison sentence, I had no one to help me. No one to explain what the POD was all about. What was or wasn't permitted. What or how to use the general app system. How to receive money/clothing from family, or what to expect.


I was placed on B1 (detox wing) and had to rely on others or by taking up a lot of officers time during unlock. I didn’t have a clue about the regime, rules, or regulations. There was no information booklets or info on the notice boards. I had to deal with detoxing from street drugs, plus I was thrown in the deep end. It was down to my inquisitive nature and consistent badgering of the officers and other prisoners, that I learnt what was what.


The time I’d taken up of the officer’s during my first 7 days on B1, was resented by my fellow inmates, causing a grievance, which admittedly, I didn’t handle very well. There was lots of tears shed and I learnt the hard way! This could be avoided.


HMP Holloway: I was one of the few prisoners who got to visit HMP Holloway before it closed in 2016. In the detox part, M1, they had 4 prisoners who were employed as “buddies”. These prisoners were paid to befriend, help, and assist all newcomers or vulnerable inmates. They would make sure they were ok, knew the daily routine, answered any questions, showed the new inmates where to put General Apps, and get food or medication. They’d even walk around the exercise yard with them.


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Written by NicWit in portal Letters From Prison
Buddy System Plan
How it could work, advantages to prison custody officers, etc.

Background info: I have been to HMP Peterborough 5 times and when I came in on my very first prison sentence, I had no one to help me. No one to explain what the POD was all about. What was or wasn't permitted. What or how to use the general app system. How to receive money/clothing from family, or what to expect.

I was placed on B1 (detox wing) and had to rely on others or by taking up a lot of officers time during unlock. I didn’t have a clue about the regime, rules, or regulations. There was no information booklets or info on the notice boards. I had to deal with detoxing from street drugs, plus I was thrown in the deep end. It was down to my inquisitive nature and consistent badgering of the officers and other prisoners, that I learnt what was what.

The time I’d taken up of the officer’s during my first 7 days on B1, was resented by my fellow inmates, causing a grievance, which admittedly, I didn’t handle very well. There was lots of tears shed and I learnt the hard way! This could be avoided.

HMP Holloway: I was one of the few prisoners who got to visit HMP Holloway before it closed in 2016. In the detox part, M1, they had 4 prisoners who were employed as “buddies”. These prisoners were paid to befriend, help, and assist all newcomers or vulnerable inmates. They would make sure they were ok, knew the daily routine, answered any questions, showed the new inmates where to put General Apps, and get food or medication. They’d even walk around the exercise yard with them.

#prose  #LettersFromPrison  #buddysystem  #prisonreform 
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Written by AmazingGraceL in portal Letters From Prison

Deep Negative Questions

Write a story where the main character is facing her/his fears.


I did not realize that my scars were deep. Who doesn’t sometimes yearn to turn back time? To be back living at home with my family, when my biggest worry was what to do or say, day or night.


Well, it seems an increasing number of people are doing just that, they are giving up their will-power, tomorrow and ability for a new future direction. Sometimes even their enthusiasm for living ad work, for a life free from responsibility. But we all have to grow up in the period of my own incarceration, likewise, my children and family.


I think it’s important not to keep hiding away from having my dream and living the life I yearn for, though one may have to keep up to date with popular culture, so as not to turn our nose up at anything that will inform people of where you’ve been. Excuses, since it’s been part of my life. Negative or not.


Those negative people and negative comments are the minority and I don’t let that continue to dictate how I’m to live my life. At least, the numbers of hurdles I had to leap over is phenomenal. After all I had been through, what else?


Then at certain moments, I’ve decided to live the life I wanted to live. And to me, that says it all. It is inspiring and speaks to everyone it was an extraordinary journey and to see my life emerge.


LIVE = the journey is just the beginning.


Now, I understood simplicity living, as the older I’ve gotten, the more I fight for a simple life. I use to say normal life, but what is normal to you or I, is not the same as the rest of the world, but it’s simplicity to you or me, by raising our children and it mind our individual business.


I am not a professional celebrity. I don’t need fame or my picture taken at events; I am an ordinary simple kind of person. Who is turning my deep negativity around into possibility and positivity!


I am free within and I can see my brighter tomorrow!!


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Written by AmazingGraceL in portal Letters From Prison
Deep Negative Questions
Write a story where the main character is facing her/his fears.

I did not realize that my scars were deep. Who doesn’t sometimes yearn to turn back time? To be back living at home with my family, when my biggest worry was what to do or say, day or night.

Well, it seems an increasing number of people are doing just that, they are giving up their will-power, tomorrow and ability for a new future direction. Sometimes even their enthusiasm for living ad work, for a life free from responsibility. But we all have to grow up in the period of my own incarceration, likewise, my children and family.

I think it’s important not to keep hiding away from having my dream and living the life I yearn for, though one may have to keep up to date with popular culture, so as not to turn our nose up at anything that will inform people of where you’ve been. Excuses, since it’s been part of my life. Negative or not.

Those negative people and negative comments are the minority and I don’t let that continue to dictate how I’m to live my life. At least, the numbers of hurdles I had to leap over is phenomenal. After all I had been through, what else?

Then at certain moments, I’ve decided to live the life I wanted to live. And to me, that says it all. It is inspiring and speaks to everyone it was an extraordinary journey and to see my life emerge.

LIVE = the journey is just the beginning.

Now, I understood simplicity living, as the older I’ve gotten, the more I fight for a simple life. I use to say normal life, but what is normal to you or I, is not the same as the rest of the world, but it’s simplicity to you or me, by raising our children and it mind our individual business.

I am not a professional celebrity. I don’t need fame or my picture taken at events; I am an ordinary simple kind of person. Who is turning my deep negativity around into possibility and positivity!

I am free within and I can see my brighter tomorrow!!

#prose  #LettersFromPrison  #facingfears  #livepositive 
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Written by NicWit in portal Letters From Prison

Sky Dive

Write a story where the main character is facing her/his fear.


As I look at the faces of the 3 other individuals, who like me, are sat in silence as the light aircraft we are in begins to take off from the aerodrome. I look at their faces and it is as if they are strangers. But they're not. Their facial expressions are etched with a grimace I’ve not witnessed whilst working along side them for the last 3 years.


Today, 4 of us from Brown’s Independent Trading are raising money for Cancer Research. We are doing this by jumping out of an aircraft and sky diving, as the finale of a fund raising event organized by our managing directions wife, whose niece is a young cancer patient.


When it was suggested in the workplace back last year, I got caught up in the infectious need of others to help this child who had been struck down with this cruel illness. Why couldn’t I have made do with baking some cakes or donating some raffle prizes?


I could have quite easily volunteered to man one of the many stalls at today’s fundraiser. Oh how much more simpler running the adult tombola; would have been a doodle compared to this. But no, not me, I had allowed my work colleagues, who until right now, I classified as friends to put my name forward for a shanty sky dive!


I can’t even climb the ladder, which enables me to put my Christmas decorations in the loft at home. Yet, somehow I am now sat inside a small –very small, aeroplane and I am going to jump out of it!


I must be crazy.


My stomach lurches again as the wheels leave the tarmac. I breath out in relief –we are up. Climbing upwards towards the clouds. I glance bravely out the small window, which resembles a port hole on a ship. Beneath me, I can see the houses and roads growing smaller as we climb higher into the skies.


I look at my work mate, Kevin, who is sat directly across from me. He is a ghastly shade and his eyes are scrunched closed. I notice both his fingers are crossed on each of his hands. At least I’m not alone up here. I’m with my friends. And we are friends. The amount of hours put in at work; we’ve got to know each other very well.


Mr. Brown, my boss, uses the words “like a family” when describing his work force and I suppose in some ways, we are.


My instructor taps me on the shoulder and puts his thumb up; naturally, I signal the same back. Why didn’t I shake my head and mouth ‘no’? The roar of the engines is deafening and I’d have to do something drastic to signal my change of mind.


The aeroplane begins to level out as we reach the height destination of 30,000 feet. The instructors from the dive school are preoccupied, checking and rechecking equipment . I pray they are thorough. One mistake now could mean disaster for any of us.


All too soon, we prepare to make the biggest hum of our lives. None of us have done anything like this before, I notice that my once confident colleagues all look very sheepish and subdued. And Kevin is now a sickly shade of green.


I take a minute to mentally prepare in my head. I say a silent prayer and a goodbye to my family. One by one, I watch my friends shuffle towards the open aeroplane door. The wind is so powerful it feels like a vacuum pulling me towards this open door.


As I shuffle forward and wait for the correct signal from the instructor, I can see clouds just below the aircraft. They look like white candy floss or a cotton wall. For a split second, I wonder what it would feel like to lay on a cloud.



The signal arrives and I allow my instructor to launch us off; instantly we begin falling fast downward. The force of gravity is so intense, my cheeks are flapping. I try to take in as much as I can, but it’s over far too quick.


Would I do it again? Hell yeah!


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Written by NicWit in portal Letters From Prison
Sky Dive
Write a story where the main character is facing her/his fear.

As I look at the faces of the 3 other individuals, who like me, are sat in silence as the light aircraft we are in begins to take off from the aerodrome. I look at their faces and it is as if they are strangers. But they're not. Their facial expressions are etched with a grimace I’ve not witnessed whilst working along side them for the last 3 years.

Today, 4 of us from Brown’s Independent Trading are raising money for Cancer Research. We are doing this by jumping out of an aircraft and sky diving, as the finale of a fund raising event organized by our managing directions wife, whose niece is a young cancer patient.

When it was suggested in the workplace back last year, I got caught up in the infectious need of others to help this child who had been struck down with this cruel illness. Why couldn’t I have made do with baking some cakes or donating some raffle prizes?

I could have quite easily volunteered to man one of the many stalls at today’s fundraiser. Oh how much more simpler running the adult tombola; would have been a doodle compared to this. But no, not me, I had allowed my work colleagues, who until right now, I classified as friends to put my name forward for a shanty sky dive!

I can’t even climb the ladder, which enables me to put my Christmas decorations in the loft at home. Yet, somehow I am now sat inside a small –very small, aeroplane and I am going to jump out of it!

I must be crazy.

My stomach lurches again as the wheels leave the tarmac. I breath out in relief –we are up. Climbing upwards towards the clouds. I glance bravely out the small window, which resembles a port hole on a ship. Beneath me, I can see the houses and roads growing smaller as we climb higher into the skies.

I look at my work mate, Kevin, who is sat directly across from me. He is a ghastly shade and his eyes are scrunched closed. I notice both his fingers are crossed on each of his hands. At least I’m not alone up here. I’m with my friends. And we are friends. The amount of hours put in at work; we’ve got to know each other very well.

Mr. Brown, my boss, uses the words “like a family” when describing his work force and I suppose in some ways, we are.

My instructor taps me on the shoulder and puts his thumb up; naturally, I signal the same back. Why didn’t I shake my head and mouth ‘no’? The roar of the engines is deafening and I’d have to do something drastic to signal my change of mind.

The aeroplane begins to level out as we reach the height destination of 30,000 feet. The instructors from the dive school are preoccupied, checking and rechecking equipment . I pray they are thorough. One mistake now could mean disaster for any of us.

All too soon, we prepare to make the biggest hum of our lives. None of us have done anything like this before, I notice that my once confident colleagues all look very sheepish and subdued. And Kevin is now a sickly shade of green.

I take a minute to mentally prepare in my head. I say a silent prayer and a goodbye to my family. One by one, I watch my friends shuffle towards the open aeroplane door. The wind is so powerful it feels like a vacuum pulling me towards this open door.

As I shuffle forward and wait for the correct signal from the instructor, I can see clouds just below the aircraft. They look like white candy floss or a cotton wall. For a split second, I wonder what it would feel like to lay on a cloud.


The signal arrives and I allow my instructor to launch us off; instantly we begin falling fast downward. The force of gravity is so intense, my cheeks are flapping. I try to take in as much as I can, but it’s over far too quick.

Would I do it again? Hell yeah!

#prose  #LettersFromPrison  #facingfear  #skydive 
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Written by Squeakypeewee01 in portal Letters From Prison

Behind Enemy Lines

Write a story where the main character is facing her/his fears.


Fear is but a word.


Tom stood on the lip of the door and looked down. A patchwork of natural beauty lay 10,000 feet below. Wind speed high, hurtling through the air, through the sky like a soaring eagle. His night vision goggles took in every speck of light.


Tom’s fear was about to become a reality. Nightmares haunted his thoughts. He knew this day would come, it was only a matter of time. Now time was a commodity he no longer had. In order to save his family, he had to jump.


How had things come to this?


Embarking upon a most dangerous and suicidal mission, he jumped. His only protection, a glider suit. Tom was now past the point of no return.


A spy behind enemy lines.


It served him right, he thought. Telling stories of being a secret agent had finally caught up with him. Now his fantasy had come true. It was not what he imagined. Far from it. Tom’s biggest fear? Being a prisoner of war. He was to land in a high security facility on his own, and be caught. The untold pain would soon become very real.


The intense training in an underground government compound was nothing compared for what was about to follow. Pure torture. Water boarding, bamboo shards under nails, crucifixion; it was all going to happen. All for the sake of an implant in his brain. So sophisticated, no instrument would be able to detect it. Once it had been activated, his position would potentially lead him to the biggest, most evil terrorist faction of the world. The headquarters of I.S.


It was his mission to gather as much intelligence as possible, send it via the implanted device, then kill himself before he would reveal his purpose. Desperately, he hoped the American Secret Services would seek and find him, but the chances were slim to zero. The worst of it all thought, he was still in the USA.


I.S. had infiltrated a backwater town in the middle of nowhere and converted it into one amazing prison. Every living soul who previously occupied the town had been assimilated, brainwashed; so they only worked and fought for this terror group. All of them born and raised in the greatest, most powerful nation on the planet. America.


Tom knew his country was on the brink of collapse. Everything he knew and loved, already under threat. He wasn’t afraid of dying for his country. He was afraid he’d survive to see its very destruction.


Tom was very patriotic, but his dream of espionage and mission impossible type tasks, had come true. All his careful research on terrorism had led to this.


Quietly, he landed behind the walls of the high security prison. Shedding his suit and night vision equipment, he stepped into the crowd of prisoners. There would be an extra head at roll-count, but the guards wouldn’t pay much attention. Keeping his head and eyes down, he made his way to the main gates. The only chance for him to look like he wanted to escape.


Under his clothing, Tom carried an arsenal of weaponry. MP5’s, Bowie knives, and pistols. Fully loaded.


He took out a small pistol and attached a silencer. His hands almost dropping both items due to the sweaty, shaking fingers. Finally he was prepared. Time to face his fears and kill some American citizens.


Tom managed to shoot six me and kill another four guards before he, himself, was taken down with a bullet to his left knee. Pain shot through his entire leg and sent a wave of white sparks through his eyesight.


He activated the device inside his head. A momentary buzzing told him it was working.


Over the next 10 days, Tom had been interrogated. He’d had little sleep, no food that would keep him nourished for long, and minimal water. His body had taken a severe beating, both physically and mentally, yet he somehow managed to keep his mission secret. ‘A brave, but foolish man’ one of his torturers called him.


During the sessions in ‘the dungeons’ he recorded every scent, sight and sound. Every face transmitted to the control centre in Washington. The only thing he couldn’t get information from was who ran this facility and by what means they had at their disposal that would unleashed terror amongst the country. Nuclear power was out. There was no way they could hide the refuse of nuclear waste without it being detected.


It was the same for a biological warfare. It seemed by all accounts, the main goal was pure and simply to brainwash everyone into reeking havoc amongst one another.


A tactic that seemed already to be working.


The country divided politically, civil war on the brink. A simple way to annihilate the people of America. Who would have thought such a plan would be so successful?


The days merged into one. Tom lost all track of time. He was spending less time with his enemy and more time alone. He had gathered enough content as he was likely to get. The brainwashing procedure was to begin.


Chemicals were pumped into him that made him delirious. I.S. became a friendly nation and America, the sinful enemy. After what felt like years, Tom was released back into American civilization; back to Washington where he underwent a debriefing of his work and intelligence.


Nobody thought or had a hint, that Tom was now a double-agent.


Six months later, an untraceable cell phone arrived at his family home. A message voice mail left instructions as to his next mission. Unknown to Tom, this was not from Washington.


The mission: to blow up the Lincoln Memorial.


Realizing suddenly what was happening, Tom sent the voicemail to mission command. His life now in danger from I.S. and the Secret Service, he knew what he had to do.


His own death would save an entire nation, but destroy a world. I.S. would never again trust in the stupidity of American soil becoming their own, the government never to trust him or his family. Tom knew his life was on the line from the start. Yet, never did he think the world would be against him. He was a hero for God’s sake.


Just before taking his own life, Tom’s last thought was, ‘Hero’s never get the welcome home they truly deserve.’


PS: Written in memory of Americans who died to protect their freedom from terror. May God grant you a place by his side. Peace out.


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Written by Squeakypeewee01 in portal Letters From Prison
Behind Enemy Lines
Write a story where the main character is facing her/his fears.

Fear is but a word.

Tom stood on the lip of the door and looked down. A patchwork of natural beauty lay 10,000 feet below. Wind speed high, hurtling through the air, through the sky like a soaring eagle. His night vision goggles took in every speck of light.

Tom’s fear was about to become a reality. Nightmares haunted his thoughts. He knew this day would come, it was only a matter of time. Now time was a commodity he no longer had. In order to save his family, he had to jump.

How had things come to this?

Embarking upon a most dangerous and suicidal mission, he jumped. His only protection, a glider suit. Tom was now past the point of no return.

A spy behind enemy lines.

It served him right, he thought. Telling stories of being a secret agent had finally caught up with him. Now his fantasy had come true. It was not what he imagined. Far from it. Tom’s biggest fear? Being a prisoner of war. He was to land in a high security facility on his own, and be caught. The untold pain would soon become very real.

The intense training in an underground government compound was nothing compared for what was about to follow. Pure torture. Water boarding, bamboo shards under nails, crucifixion; it was all going to happen. All for the sake of an implant in his brain. So sophisticated, no instrument would be able to detect it. Once it had been activated, his position would potentially lead him to the biggest, most evil terrorist faction of the world. The headquarters of I.S.

It was his mission to gather as much intelligence as possible, send it via the implanted device, then kill himself before he would reveal his purpose. Desperately, he hoped the American Secret Services would seek and find him, but the chances were slim to zero. The worst of it all thought, he was still in the USA.

I.S. had infiltrated a backwater town in the middle of nowhere and converted it into one amazing prison. Every living soul who previously occupied the town had been assimilated, brainwashed; so they only worked and fought for this terror group. All of them born and raised in the greatest, most powerful nation on the planet. America.

Tom knew his country was on the brink of collapse. Everything he knew and loved, already under threat. He wasn’t afraid of dying for his country. He was afraid he’d survive to see its very destruction.

Tom was very patriotic, but his dream of espionage and mission impossible type tasks, had come true. All his careful research on terrorism had led to this.

Quietly, he landed behind the walls of the high security prison. Shedding his suit and night vision equipment, he stepped into the crowd of prisoners. There would be an extra head at roll-count, but the guards wouldn’t pay much attention. Keeping his head and eyes down, he made his way to the main gates. The only chance for him to look like he wanted to escape.

Under his clothing, Tom carried an arsenal of weaponry. MP5’s, Bowie knives, and pistols. Fully loaded.

He took out a small pistol and attached a silencer. His hands almost dropping both items due to the sweaty, shaking fingers. Finally he was prepared. Time to face his fears and kill some American citizens.

Tom managed to shoot six me and kill another four guards before he, himself, was taken down with a bullet to his left knee. Pain shot through his entire leg and sent a wave of white sparks through his eyesight.

He activated the device inside his head. A momentary buzzing told him it was working.

Over the next 10 days, Tom had been interrogated. He’d had little sleep, no food that would keep him nourished for long, and minimal water. His body had taken a severe beating, both physically and mentally, yet he somehow managed to keep his mission secret. ‘A brave, but foolish man’ one of his torturers called him.

During the sessions in ‘the dungeons’ he recorded every scent, sight and sound. Every face transmitted to the control centre in Washington. The only thing he couldn’t get information from was who ran this facility and by what means they had at their disposal that would unleashed terror amongst the country. Nuclear power was out. There was no way they could hide the refuse of nuclear waste without it being detected.

It was the same for a biological warfare. It seemed by all accounts, the main goal was pure and simply to brainwash everyone into reeking havoc amongst one another.

A tactic that seemed already to be working.

The country divided politically, civil war on the brink. A simple way to annihilate the people of America. Who would have thought such a plan would be so successful?

The days merged into one. Tom lost all track of time. He was spending less time with his enemy and more time alone. He had gathered enough content as he was likely to get. The brainwashing procedure was to begin.

Chemicals were pumped into him that made him delirious. I.S. became a friendly nation and America, the sinful enemy. After what felt like years, Tom was released back into American civilization; back to Washington where he underwent a debriefing of his work and intelligence.

Nobody thought or had a hint, that Tom was now a double-agent.

Six months later, an untraceable cell phone arrived at his family home. A message voice mail left instructions as to his next mission. Unknown to Tom, this was not from Washington.

The mission: to blow up the Lincoln Memorial.

Realizing suddenly what was happening, Tom sent the voicemail to mission command. His life now in danger from I.S. and the Secret Service, he knew what he had to do.

His own death would save an entire nation, but destroy a world. I.S. would never again trust in the stupidity of American soil becoming their own, the government never to trust him or his family. Tom knew his life was on the line from the start. Yet, never did he think the world would be against him. He was a hero for God’s sake.

Just before taking his own life, Tom’s last thought was, ‘Hero’s never get the welcome home they truly deserve.’

PS: Written in memory of Americans who died to protect their freedom from terror. May God grant you a place by his side. Peace out.

#prose  #LettersFromPrison  #facingfear  #dedicatedtoamericansoldiers 
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Written by Squeakypeewee01 in portal Letters From Prison

Prison Blog: I'm No Quitter!

It’s easy to drop out of something you can't handle. This week I tried. I’ve endured a grueling, boring anger management course over the past five days.


On the Wednesday, I dropped out.


I couldn't face the group setting, yet inside, I felt disappointed in myself. So back I went on Thursday, to see out the rest of the week.


I’ll admit, despite not learning much and only feeling desperately low, I gave it another chance. Today, I got from the course all that I needed. Acceptance from others. I felt part of something; I belonged.


Yes, I dropped out for one day, but it gave me a chance to think about what I really wanted. My last blog stated the course and its ideas. Now I would like to take some of those words and transform them.


Thank you for the belief in me when I had none. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to truly see what I had to. Don’t get me wrong; I hated most of what the course entailed, but sometimes facing hate head on is the best thing. I’m still angry, but now I’m ready to face more group work. I’ll even feel a little more comfortable doing role-play and scenario sessions.


This week, I have shown I’m no quitter. I’m not afraid to try something different. So it’s almost time to do all this on a bigger scale. Bring it on. Bring on the hard work, because this time I will not shirk, a challenge I have the skills to take on, however, don’t say ‘I told you so.’


This was my choosing, influenced by my own inner fight. I could have walked away, but I didn’t. I made the choice to see it out.


Manipulated, I was not –I’m still the master of me. BOO-YAAH!

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Written by Squeakypeewee01 in portal Letters From Prison
Prison Blog: I'm No Quitter!
It’s easy to drop out of something you can't handle. This week I tried. I’ve endured a grueling, boring anger management course over the past five days.

On the Wednesday, I dropped out.

I couldn't face the group setting, yet inside, I felt disappointed in myself. So back I went on Thursday, to see out the rest of the week.

I’ll admit, despite not learning much and only feeling desperately low, I gave it another chance. Today, I got from the course all that I needed. Acceptance from others. I felt part of something; I belonged.

Yes, I dropped out for one day, but it gave me a chance to think about what I really wanted. My last blog stated the course and its ideas. Now I would like to take some of those words and transform them.

Thank you for the belief in me when I had none. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to truly see what I had to. Don’t get me wrong; I hated most of what the course entailed, but sometimes facing hate head on is the best thing. I’m still angry, but now I’m ready to face more group work. I’ll even feel a little more comfortable doing role-play and scenario sessions.

This week, I have shown I’m no quitter. I’m not afraid to try something different. So it’s almost time to do all this on a bigger scale. Bring it on. Bring on the hard work, because this time I will not shirk, a challenge I have the skills to take on, however, don’t say ‘I told you so.’

This was my choosing, influenced by my own inner fight. I could have walked away, but I didn’t. I made the choice to see it out.

Manipulated, I was not –I’m still the master of me. BOO-YAAH!
#prose  #LettersFromPrison  #prisonblog  #neverquit 
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Challenge of the Week #57: you’re god; rewrite the creation story. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by AlmightyPencil

Creation's Story

Little did you know, the creation story isn’t the fall of man—it is the fall of Gods. Also, very few of you know that there is not one god, or countless gods. Rather, there are—sorry—rather, there were three. I am—was—one of them. I had many names: the Creator, the Great Architect, Gaia, the Infinite, Ra, Life, Mother, Father, and the list goes on. You may call me Creation. Here is my story, beginning to end.

I opened my eyes in nothing. I know it wasn’t black. I know it wasn’t white. It was just, well, nothing. There was just me—a girl with a labyrinth of white hair floating in the nothing. Freshly born, or freshly existing, all I knew was the consuming need to fill the nothing.

I clapped my hands and the bang rocketed across the universe. But I was not done. As I ran, my fingers painted the cosmos as a child’s dripping fingers paints the wall. I breathed out the solar winds on my laughter. Stardust poured from my ears. With a flick of the wrist, I slung comet after comet. I rolled the planets between my palms.

Looking back, I went a little overboard, for soon the universe was spilling over. The weight of my own creations bore down on my shoulders. Soon I would be crushed.

But then she appeared. A being like me, but dressed in string. Threads of every material and color coiled around her body, clinging to her legs, hanging from her arms, and so entangled that she seemed inseparable from her gown. She knew me for she said,

“Creation, sister, I am here.” This other being took my hand and by her touch—my first sensation of touch—I knew her.

“Oh sister, oh Fate,” I wailed. My tears flooded the universe as I told her of my plight. Fate did not seem alarmed.

“Everything has its place, I can see it,” she said.

We stood up, hand in hand, and walked. With quick work of her fingers, strings tied moons to planets, planets to stars, stars held together in their galaxies. Every celestial body rotated and orbited just so. We stopped at every world, and she instructed me to carve the mountains just so and to fill the primordial seas. From the largest star to the smallest atom, she arranged everything.

My sister began to wane, but she insisted we continue. Maybe I had made too much. Not even the Gods could sort it all. But Fate paused and pointed across the universe to a corner where there was nothing—a star had disappeared.

We hurried to where it had been and found in its place a stranger cloaked in empty sky. He wrapped his arms around a world as it vanished.

“Why?” I asked.

“It was tired. I gave it rest,” the stranger answered.

The word rest echoed in me. I wondered how long ago that world’s waters ran dry and its surface began to crumble. How long did it continue because I had made it? Fate urged me to leave, but I stepped forward, offering the stranger a light from my hand. He reached out, took a hold of the light, cradling it in his arms. He hugged the light to his chest and its brightness faded into him.

“I am Creation.”

“I am Death.”

That was the start of my love for Death.

“And I am Fate.” My sister stepped next to me. “Come with us.”

And so we became Three. With Death among us, I could fashion the new without fear, for he was there to take away the old. And with Fate’s guidance, the universe reached balance.

But that is not the end of the story, because you had not begun yet. It would be many eons until you began; creating all life takes time. Between then and your beginning, I created a home for the Three of us between the stitching of this universe. You may call it the Heavens. And I crafted a book and pen for Fate to keep record of all created and their futures.

The first of many children were formed. The realm continued to grow and there were only Three of us. Fate decreed we needed help. I didn’t oppose. That meant I could spend more time with Death. For you see, we had fallen very much in love. He loved and cared for all of my works, and I loved him for it. Death was warmer company than my sister. I adored my sister, but her mind was filled with maps and futures, no room for affection. Death was quiet, but he was also gentle. We became constant companions. I could speak of Death’s subtleties all day, but you don’t want to hear about us.

So, each of us formed our first children from a lock of our hair. Every culture has a different name for them, whether it is angels, demons, nymphs, harbingers or minor deities. Made in our image, they aided us by carrying out the smaller tasks that kept the universe in order. Fate called them her servants. I called them my children. Soon our realm was filled with them. Our family was bigger and happiness abounded even if Fate did not share my glee. She spent more time in her palace writing in her book.

As the days passed, the happiness became routine, and I became bored. My world had become static. Gods do not change and my children shared that trait. They did not, however, share my ability to create. Now, when I say create, I mean to make something out of nothing. Not change, not mold, not combine, but to have something entirely new that was not there before. Humans generally take this as impossibility. A very clever human wrote, “Energy can neither be created nor destroyed.” He was right, of humans and all other beings besides the Gods. I love my children, so I did not fault them for their lack of this skill.

In these days, I found solace in one particular little blue world—your Earth. Everything about Earth changes from the landscape to the weather to the leaves on the trees. Take you for insistence. From the microscopic cells that swam in boiling oceans, to the first land creatures, to the dinosaurs, to the rise of mammals, I have sculpted your evolution. Every generation of life was different. But then you stopped changing. Something was missing.

I went to my sister and told her so. The humans needed to grow on their own; they needed ability to bring about something where nothing was there before. Your ancestors called it magic.

Fate, she disagreed. In fact, I had never seen her so enraged. For a moment, her calculating mask fractured when she screamed, “You will never walk upon the Earth again!”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I am Fate and I said it is so,” she replied. “What I say is what is meant to be.”

“But I made them. I am Creation and I will give what I will.”

When I turned to leave, my sister’s strings ensnared me. She imprisoned me in the lowest floors of the Heavens, bound to the wall by own hair. I wept for days, wondering what would become of my children and my humans. I wondered what my beloved Death was doing. Had he noticed my absence? What lies did Fate spin on her silver tongue?

When I resigned myself to this prison, one of my sister’s children happened upon me. Not just any child, but her closest advisor and companion—the right hand of Fate. Appalled at his own Goddess’s actions, he set me free. With a blade he cut my hair away. As it unraveled, my white locks fell from the Heavens to the Earth. Strands scattered on the winds fell upon the heads of humans.

Not until later would I learn that each human touched by a strand of my hair was gifted with a part of my power, a part of me. They began creating—ideas grew in the empty mind behind their eyes. True, no human can create energy, but they began to transform it. In the beginning, a very few humans had more of me than others; true magic users summoned fire from their fingers and bent waves at their command. But the power dispersed through the species. Invention became embedded in them all. Friction became fire, stones became wheels, fields became farms, and wastelands became cities. The human race was born that day.

But what of the Gods?

I’ve told you the rise of humankind, but not the fall of my kind. After Fate’s Right Hand freed me from my prison, I fled the Heavens, but Fate hurried after. I could see the mountains peeking through the clouds when Fate reached me. She grasped my hand.

“Help me correct the chaos you wrought!” she said. “They will end themselves!”

“But they won’t stand still!” I yelled.

We fought, lighting the dark sky with our blows. Among the chaos, Death came down from the Heavens. He tried to pull us apart, but Fate would not let go.

“Fate, stop this! She’s your sister!” he cried. Fate would not listen, so he beseeched me, “Creation, let her have what she wants.”

“I can’t,” I said. My rage burned hotter than any star I forged. My sister’s strings pulled tighter, cutting us both. Death’s cloak spread around us all.

I remember falling, the three of us entangled, and looking into Death’s eyes one last time. Light filled my vision as we burned.

The Gods died that day.

And that was my end. Now there is only you, my human children. Go out with your clever minds and crafty hand. Continue my story—the story of creation.

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Challenge of the Week #57: you’re god; rewrite the creation story. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by AlmightyPencil
Creation's Story
Little did you know, the creation story isn’t the fall of man—it is the fall of Gods. Also, very few of you know that there is not one god, or countless gods. Rather, there are—sorry—rather, there were three. I am—was—one of them. I had many names: the Creator, the Great Architect, Gaia, the Infinite, Ra, Life, Mother, Father, and the list goes on. You may call me Creation. Here is my story, beginning to end.

I opened my eyes in nothing. I know it wasn’t black. I know it wasn’t white. It was just, well, nothing. There was just me—a girl with a labyrinth of white hair floating in the nothing. Freshly born, or freshly existing, all I knew was the consuming need to fill the nothing.

I clapped my hands and the bang rocketed across the universe. But I was not done. As I ran, my fingers painted the cosmos as a child’s dripping fingers paints the wall. I breathed out the solar winds on my laughter. Stardust poured from my ears. With a flick of the wrist, I slung comet after comet. I rolled the planets between my palms.

Looking back, I went a little overboard, for soon the universe was spilling over. The weight of my own creations bore down on my shoulders. Soon I would be crushed.
But then she appeared. A being like me, but dressed in string. Threads of every material and color coiled around her body, clinging to her legs, hanging from her arms, and so entangled that she seemed inseparable from her gown. She knew me for she said,

“Creation, sister, I am here.” This other being took my hand and by her touch—my first sensation of touch—I knew her.

“Oh sister, oh Fate,” I wailed. My tears flooded the universe as I told her of my plight. Fate did not seem alarmed.

“Everything has its place, I can see it,” she said.

We stood up, hand in hand, and walked. With quick work of her fingers, strings tied moons to planets, planets to stars, stars held together in their galaxies. Every celestial body rotated and orbited just so. We stopped at every world, and she instructed me to carve the mountains just so and to fill the primordial seas. From the largest star to the smallest atom, she arranged everything.

My sister began to wane, but she insisted we continue. Maybe I had made too much. Not even the Gods could sort it all. But Fate paused and pointed across the universe to a corner where there was nothing—a star had disappeared.
We hurried to where it had been and found in its place a stranger cloaked in empty sky. He wrapped his arms around a world as it vanished.

“Why?” I asked.

“It was tired. I gave it rest,” the stranger answered.

The word rest echoed in me. I wondered how long ago that world’s waters ran dry and its surface began to crumble. How long did it continue because I had made it? Fate urged me to leave, but I stepped forward, offering the stranger a light from my hand. He reached out, took a hold of the light, cradling it in his arms. He hugged the light to his chest and its brightness faded into him.

“I am Creation.”

“I am Death.”

That was the start of my love for Death.

“And I am Fate.” My sister stepped next to me. “Come with us.”

And so we became Three. With Death among us, I could fashion the new without fear, for he was there to take away the old. And with Fate’s guidance, the universe reached balance.

But that is not the end of the story, because you had not begun yet. It would be many eons until you began; creating all life takes time. Between then and your beginning, I created a home for the Three of us between the stitching of this universe. You may call it the Heavens. And I crafted a book and pen for Fate to keep record of all created and their futures.

The first of many children were formed. The realm continued to grow and there were only Three of us. Fate decreed we needed help. I didn’t oppose. That meant I could spend more time with Death. For you see, we had fallen very much in love. He loved and cared for all of my works, and I loved him for it. Death was warmer company than my sister. I adored my sister, but her mind was filled with maps and futures, no room for affection. Death was quiet, but he was also gentle. We became constant companions. I could speak of Death’s subtleties all day, but you don’t want to hear about us.

So, each of us formed our first children from a lock of our hair. Every culture has a different name for them, whether it is angels, demons, nymphs, harbingers or minor deities. Made in our image, they aided us by carrying out the smaller tasks that kept the universe in order. Fate called them her servants. I called them my children. Soon our realm was filled with them. Our family was bigger and happiness abounded even if Fate did not share my glee. She spent more time in her palace writing in her book.

As the days passed, the happiness became routine, and I became bored. My world had become static. Gods do not change and my children shared that trait. They did not, however, share my ability to create. Now, when I say create, I mean to make something out of nothing. Not change, not mold, not combine, but to have something entirely new that was not there before. Humans generally take this as impossibility. A very clever human wrote, “Energy can neither be created nor destroyed.” He was right, of humans and all other beings besides the Gods. I love my children, so I did not fault them for their lack of this skill.

In these days, I found solace in one particular little blue world—your Earth. Everything about Earth changes from the landscape to the weather to the leaves on the trees. Take you for insistence. From the microscopic cells that swam in boiling oceans, to the first land creatures, to the dinosaurs, to the rise of mammals, I have sculpted your evolution. Every generation of life was different. But then you stopped changing. Something was missing.

I went to my sister and told her so. The humans needed to grow on their own; they needed ability to bring about something where nothing was there before. Your ancestors called it magic.

Fate, she disagreed. In fact, I had never seen her so enraged. For a moment, her calculating mask fractured when she screamed, “You will never walk upon the Earth again!”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I am Fate and I said it is so,” she replied. “What I say is what is meant to be.”

“But I made them. I am Creation and I will give what I will.”

When I turned to leave, my sister’s strings ensnared me. She imprisoned me in the lowest floors of the Heavens, bound to the wall by own hair. I wept for days, wondering what would become of my children and my humans. I wondered what my beloved Death was doing. Had he noticed my absence? What lies did Fate spin on her silver tongue?

When I resigned myself to this prison, one of my sister’s children happened upon me. Not just any child, but her closest advisor and companion—the right hand of Fate. Appalled at his own Goddess’s actions, he set me free. With a blade he cut my hair away. As it unraveled, my white locks fell from the Heavens to the Earth. Strands scattered on the winds fell upon the heads of humans.

Not until later would I learn that each human touched by a strand of my hair was gifted with a part of my power, a part of me. They began creating—ideas grew in the empty mind behind their eyes. True, no human can create energy, but they began to transform it. In the beginning, a very few humans had more of me than others; true magic users summoned fire from their fingers and bent waves at their command. But the power dispersed through the species. Invention became embedded in them all. Friction became fire, stones became wheels, fields became farms, and wastelands became cities. The human race was born that day.

But what of the Gods?

I’ve told you the rise of humankind, but not the fall of my kind. After Fate’s Right Hand freed me from my prison, I fled the Heavens, but Fate hurried after. I could see the mountains peeking through the clouds when Fate reached me. She grasped my hand.

“Help me correct the chaos you wrought!” she said. “They will end themselves!”

“But they won’t stand still!” I yelled.

We fought, lighting the dark sky with our blows. Among the chaos, Death came down from the Heavens. He tried to pull us apart, but Fate would not let go.

“Fate, stop this! She’s your sister!” he cried. Fate would not listen, so he beseeched me, “Creation, let her have what she wants.”

“I can’t,” I said. My rage burned hotter than any star I forged. My sister’s strings pulled tighter, cutting us both. Death’s cloak spread around us all.

I remember falling, the three of us entangled, and looking into Death’s eyes one last time. Light filled my vision as we burned.

The Gods died that day.

And that was my end. Now there is only you, my human children. Go out with your clever minds and crafty hand. Continue my story—the story of creation.
#fantasy  #fiction  #prose 
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Written by Squeakypeewee01 in portal Letters From Prison

God-Like

You woke smarter than anyone in the world. Write a story about it.


This morning I woke up feeling quite ordinary. Groggy, hair all over the place. Nothing out of the ordinary. Until I began to eat my Coco Pops.


Savoring the chocolatey milk, formulas began to run through my mind. The composition of the toasted rice and chocolate, down to the individual molecules of milk. A strange tingling came over my body and I shuddered.


There was something amiss here. Math was never my strong suit. Actually, it was my worst subject at school. Looking at my family scoffing their food in silence, I realized something was very different about them. They seemed almost caveman-like. Grunts of broken conversation erupted sporadically.


An urgent need to engage in meaningful talk overwhelmed me. So, picking up the daily paper, I scanned the political page and financial section. Before I knew it, I devoured all the information. Nothing missed.


It appeared the pound had dropped yet again, due to the debate in the Houses of Parliament about Brexit. Yet, I instantly knew this wouldn’t last long. People were selling businesses in Europe through fear of losing money. Brexit would actually increase the value of the pound within weeks.


How did I know all this?


A mystery for sure. Yet, I longed to know so much more. On the way to school, I focused on my upcoming science exam. The process of photosynthesis used to baffle me, but again, the answers popped into my head; as if a door, previously locked, opened. A flood of information became available instantly.


I sat my exam, and finished in record time. Content I had answered the questions in full, with added work to show my understanding.


I am clever! Never had I felt so confident in my abilities.


I needed to speak to someone about this new found skill. The only person I trusted was my one teacher, Miss Smith. ‘Should I consider myself a freak? I know everything. Knowledge flows through my whole body like osmosis.’


Looking at me with a look of fascination, Miss Smith asked me several questions she knew I couldn’t answer. Yet, within seconds, I solved trigonometry, physics, and chemistry. All without needing to take notes or scribble ideas down. Miss Smith had to google all the answers.



She printed a mensa test and asked me if I knew any answers. I solved al the questions. My score hit –and beat, the highest level ever recorded. The test proved I was likely the most intelligent person ever known.


‘How are you doing this?’


‘I don’t know. It’s the only thing I can’t explain. I woke up this morning and felt fine. But I’m not. I’m a super-brain.’


Word got around that I suddenly knew everything. As the weeks went by, phone calls from top neurologists and brain busters come thick and fast. I had scans to see if I was suffering from unusual brain activity. Test done, but nothing showed anything. I was a phenomenon.


Soon I was being invited to symposiums to explain a number of scientific problems that confounded men and women who were experienced in their chosen fields. I never tired and spent many nights just sitting at my computer. Even that began to bore me. The internet and search engines held nothing I didn’t already know.


I really had, overnight, become more intelligent than the entire human race put together. Yet I was incredibly unhappy. I began to invert into myself. No body could understand me and I felt the world shrinking into a sphere of desperation. I could be very rich, live a life of pure luxury, but it held no interest for me.


Every day, more information filtered through me and I had no way to stop the onslaught. My childhood was slipping by, through my fingers, like the sands of time.


As time goes by, I find myself contemplating the very universe. I may be the most able-minded person on the planet, but deep inside I knew there was more to this existence.


It was only a matter of time before I realized this mortal state would only hinder my growing need to learn and absorb information.


But how to leave?


Many philosophers have come to the belief that all knowledge gained can be taken to the next state of consciousness. I needed to take that next step. I questioned whether I could leave my family behind. I know they would miss me, but they held little interest now. That was a cruel thought, but it’s the truth of the matter.


After quickly scanning ‘The Meaning of Life’ by Steven Hawkins, I knew it was time to leave. I needed a secluded place, away from the hustle of human activity, to prepare myself for the coming challenge. I snuck out in the middle of the night and made my way to the woods behind my home.


Sitting on dry, crackling leaves, I crossed my legs in a meditative pose. I concentrated on the sounds and smells all around. I recognized the rustles of night time creatures in search of food. I could smell the distant rain coming.


As I absorbed these basic human senses, I also began to focus on all the molecules of my very being. Slowly, my body began to shimmer. I opened my eyes and saw the matrix of time and space unfold around me. I could almost touch the very atoms. I let my body flow into this matrix and become one with it. My very existence rapidly changed. At last, my mind felt at peace as I emerged into a new form of energy.


The creation of all life and the universe was at my fingertips. Not only did I understand what was expanding around me, I realized I could mimic the same patterns.


I have become what humans would call ‘God-like.’ For me, I was on another plain of intelligence. A new and unique being. A destiny only fate could bring. It was meant to be. As I looked at the planet from the stars, I ‘floated’ through time and space.


My power to accumulate information lessened. I no longer needed to know all. It would come naturally now. My life as a human over, my new beginning before me.


One day, I wake up, as the most profound feeling comes over me. What a dream! If only I really was that clever. I went to school as normal. Sat my exam and thankfully –failed it. No amount of intelligence would make me happy. I was humbled to my very core. My life would be mundane, yet full of joys humanity could bring.

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Written by Squeakypeewee01 in portal Letters From Prison
God-Like
You woke smarter than anyone in the world. Write a story about it.

This morning I woke up feeling quite ordinary. Groggy, hair all over the place. Nothing out of the ordinary. Until I began to eat my Coco Pops.

Savoring the chocolatey milk, formulas began to run through my mind. The composition of the toasted rice and chocolate, down to the individual molecules of milk. A strange tingling came over my body and I shuddered.

There was something amiss here. Math was never my strong suit. Actually, it was my worst subject at school. Looking at my family scoffing their food in silence, I realized something was very different about them. They seemed almost caveman-like. Grunts of broken conversation erupted sporadically.

An urgent need to engage in meaningful talk overwhelmed me. So, picking up the daily paper, I scanned the political page and financial section. Before I knew it, I devoured all the information. Nothing missed.

It appeared the pound had dropped yet again, due to the debate in the Houses of Parliament about Brexit. Yet, I instantly knew this wouldn’t last long. People were selling businesses in Europe through fear of losing money. Brexit would actually increase the value of the pound within weeks.

How did I know all this?

A mystery for sure. Yet, I longed to know so much more. On the way to school, I focused on my upcoming science exam. The process of photosynthesis used to baffle me, but again, the answers popped into my head; as if a door, previously locked, opened. A flood of information became available instantly.

I sat my exam, and finished in record time. Content I had answered the questions in full, with added work to show my understanding.

I am clever! Never had I felt so confident in my abilities.

I needed to speak to someone about this new found skill. The only person I trusted was my one teacher, Miss Smith. ‘Should I consider myself a freak? I know everything. Knowledge flows through my whole body like osmosis.’

Looking at me with a look of fascination, Miss Smith asked me several questions she knew I couldn’t answer. Yet, within seconds, I solved trigonometry, physics, and chemistry. All without needing to take notes or scribble ideas down. Miss Smith had to google all the answers.


She printed a mensa test and asked me if I knew any answers. I solved al the questions. My score hit –and beat, the highest level ever recorded. The test proved I was likely the most intelligent person ever known.

‘How are you doing this?’

‘I don’t know. It’s the only thing I can’t explain. I woke up this morning and felt fine. But I’m not. I’m a super-brain.’

Word got around that I suddenly knew everything. As the weeks went by, phone calls from top neurologists and brain busters come thick and fast. I had scans to see if I was suffering from unusual brain activity. Test done, but nothing showed anything. I was a phenomenon.

Soon I was being invited to symposiums to explain a number of scientific problems that confounded men and women who were experienced in their chosen fields. I never tired and spent many nights just sitting at my computer. Even that began to bore me. The internet and search engines held nothing I didn’t already know.

I really had, overnight, become more intelligent than the entire human race put together. Yet I was incredibly unhappy. I began to invert into myself. No body could understand me and I felt the world shrinking into a sphere of desperation. I could be very rich, live a life of pure luxury, but it held no interest for me.

Every day, more information filtered through me and I had no way to stop the onslaught. My childhood was slipping by, through my fingers, like the sands of time.

As time goes by, I find myself contemplating the very universe. I may be the most able-minded person on the planet, but deep inside I knew there was more to this existence.

It was only a matter of time before I realized this mortal state would only hinder my growing need to learn and absorb information.

But how to leave?

Many philosophers have come to the belief that all knowledge gained can be taken to the next state of consciousness. I needed to take that next step. I questioned whether I could leave my family behind. I know they would miss me, but they held little interest now. That was a cruel thought, but it’s the truth of the matter.

After quickly scanning ‘The Meaning of Life’ by Steven Hawkins, I knew it was time to leave. I needed a secluded place, away from the hustle of human activity, to prepare myself for the coming challenge. I snuck out in the middle of the night and made my way to the woods behind my home.

Sitting on dry, crackling leaves, I crossed my legs in a meditative pose. I concentrated on the sounds and smells all around. I recognized the rustles of night time creatures in search of food. I could smell the distant rain coming.

As I absorbed these basic human senses, I also began to focus on all the molecules of my very being. Slowly, my body began to shimmer. I opened my eyes and saw the matrix of time and space unfold around me. I could almost touch the very atoms. I let my body flow into this matrix and become one with it. My very existence rapidly changed. At last, my mind felt at peace as I emerged into a new form of energy.

The creation of all life and the universe was at my fingertips. Not only did I understand what was expanding around me, I realized I could mimic the same patterns.

I have become what humans would call ‘God-like.’ For me, I was on another plain of intelligence. A new and unique being. A destiny only fate could bring. It was meant to be. As I looked at the planet from the stars, I ‘floated’ through time and space.

My power to accumulate information lessened. I no longer needed to know all. It would come naturally now. My life as a human over, my new beginning before me.

One day, I wake up, as the most profound feeling comes over me. What a dream! If only I really was that clever. I went to school as normal. Sat my exam and thankfully –failed it. No amount of intelligence would make me happy. I was humbled to my very core. My life would be mundane, yet full of joys humanity could bring.
#prose  #LettersFromPrison  #godlike 
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Written by AmazingGraceL in portal Letters From Prison

From Death a Genius is Born

You woke smarter than anyone in the world. Write a story about it.


People say that there’s no stronger connection than the one between a mother and her child. I’m living proof of that. After I suffered a cardiac arrest and was placed in an induced coma, which eventually saved my life.


At that time, I had no idea anything was wrong. It was when I felt nauseous and then fainted at my older sister’s party. I couldn't blame it on the little white wine I had, everyone knows that I get tipsy, even with a drop of Shandy or Ginger Beer; talk less of white wine. I felt I needed to lay down.


The next day, I went to my GP. “You are anaemic and you’re probably run down,” the doctor said. “You need to rest.”


But at home later that evening, I experienced the same rush of blood feeling, which I had the day before. As I kept slipping in and out of consciousness, my sister’s husband, Paul, called an ambulance and I was taken to hospital.


“We’re going to shock you,” one of the paramedics announced. “It will hurt.” But I passed out before I felt anything. I was told later that my heartbeat had become so unsymmetrical, it had stopped totally, and I’d had a cardiac arrest. They’d given me electric shock treatment, a further 15 times, just to keep me alive. I did not feel a single one of them.


At the hospital, my sister and her husband were advised that they needed to put me on a machine that would stabilize my heart. While they were still discussing it, I went into a coma. The machine gadgets I was hooked on started bleeping and my heart stopped again. They continued resuscitating me for 50 minutes.


Just before they were about to officially pronounce the time and hour of my death, my heart started. I was taken into the theatre to ascertain the function and cause of the condition of my heart.


When I woke up 8 days later, I had no idea where I was, or what had happened to me, but I became so smart that I talked about the space, galaxies, and spoke different languages which I had never spoken. I started discussing with all the health professionals in the language of medics, that all were astonished and asked if I was in the field of medicine.


I became smarter than anyone in the room. I was allowed home the following month. I became so genius, that I could do most things; no topic, or invention, I could not do or implement. From my waking up, I was smarter than anyone else in the world. I can communicate in languages of the world, including of the animal kingdom.


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Written by AmazingGraceL in portal Letters From Prison
From Death a Genius is Born
You woke smarter than anyone in the world. Write a story about it.

People say that there’s no stronger connection than the one between a mother and her child. I’m living proof of that. After I suffered a cardiac arrest and was placed in an induced coma, which eventually saved my life.

At that time, I had no idea anything was wrong. It was when I felt nauseous and then fainted at my older sister’s party. I couldn't blame it on the little white wine I had, everyone knows that I get tipsy, even with a drop of Shandy or Ginger Beer; talk less of white wine. I felt I needed to lay down.

The next day, I went to my GP. “You are anaemic and you’re probably run down,” the doctor said. “You need to rest.”

But at home later that evening, I experienced the same rush of blood feeling, which I had the day before. As I kept slipping in and out of consciousness, my sister’s husband, Paul, called an ambulance and I was taken to hospital.

“We’re going to shock you,” one of the paramedics announced. “It will hurt.” But I passed out before I felt anything. I was told later that my heartbeat had become so unsymmetrical, it had stopped totally, and I’d had a cardiac arrest. They’d given me electric shock treatment, a further 15 times, just to keep me alive. I did not feel a single one of them.

At the hospital, my sister and her husband were advised that they needed to put me on a machine that would stabilize my heart. While they were still discussing it, I went into a coma. The machine gadgets I was hooked on started bleeping and my heart stopped again. They continued resuscitating me for 50 minutes.

Just before they were about to officially pronounce the time and hour of my death, my heart started. I was taken into the theatre to ascertain the function and cause of the condition of my heart.

When I woke up 8 days later, I had no idea where I was, or what had happened to me, but I became so smart that I talked about the space, galaxies, and spoke different languages which I had never spoken. I started discussing with all the health professionals in the language of medics, that all were astonished and asked if I was in the field of medicine.

I became smarter than anyone in the room. I was allowed home the following month. I became so genius, that I could do most things; no topic, or invention, I could not do or implement. From my waking up, I was smarter than anyone else in the world. I can communicate in languages of the world, including of the animal kingdom.

#prose  #LettersFromPrison  #genius 
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Written by Jo_Jo in portal Letters From Prison

The Day I Woke Up Smarter

You woke smarter than anyone in the world. Write a story about it.


I felt very strange when I woke one day. My brain felt full of information I had never thought of before. I felt like my head was gonna explode with all the information in there. I really thought I was still dreaming, as I had never thought of any of this stuff before. I pinched myself to make sure I was awake and I was.


I went downstairs and put the news on, which I had never done before. I found this very strange. As I picked the remote up to change the channel, they started to talk about the news about Trump, the new American president.


I found myself understanding and knowing what they were talking about. I had never understood this stuff before. I found myself turning the tele over; there was a quiz show on and I stopped at that program. Again, I found myself answering questions I would never get usually. I could not believe what was happening.


I knew there was a program on around this time called, “University Challenge” and I thought, ‘this is a program I will never be able to answer any of the questions.’ I turned the channel and I could not, in a million years, believe I answered all the questions they asked –even the ones the contestants could not.


What was happening to me had my mind taken over. Had someone put a spell on me? I could not understand what was happening to me, I had never been this bright, this intelligent, or this smart. I decided to go to the doctors.


Again, the doctor did not tell me anything I did not already know. I went for a bite of lunch, and while there, I looked across the road and there was a library. What were the chances of that? I went in and sat. I overheard college students arguing about the answer to a brain teaser they were working on. To my total surprise, I knew the answer and how to explain it. So I did and they were well shocked.


They told me that none of their class or teacher would ever believe that I answered and explained how I got to the answer. When they had been working on it for days. I did not look or act like I could do this in anyway, other than cheating, but as they thought about it, I could not have cheated.


I had walked through the door, heard their debate, and not even looking at a book, computer, or even my phone, I came over and answered it with ease. I also explained it well, so even a person who was not that bright could understand it. I really could not believe what had happened to me. Had I really become smarter than anyone in the world?


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Written by Jo_Jo in portal Letters From Prison
The Day I Woke Up Smarter
You woke smarter than anyone in the world. Write a story about it.

I felt very strange when I woke one day. My brain felt full of information I had never thought of before. I felt like my head was gonna explode with all the information in there. I really thought I was still dreaming, as I had never thought of any of this stuff before. I pinched myself to make sure I was awake and I was.

I went downstairs and put the news on, which I had never done before. I found this very strange. As I picked the remote up to change the channel, they started to talk about the news about Trump, the new American president.

I found myself understanding and knowing what they were talking about. I had never understood this stuff before. I found myself turning the tele over; there was a quiz show on and I stopped at that program. Again, I found myself answering questions I would never get usually. I could not believe what was happening.

I knew there was a program on around this time called, “University Challenge” and I thought, ‘this is a program I will never be able to answer any of the questions.’ I turned the channel and I could not, in a million years, believe I answered all the questions they asked –even the ones the contestants could not.

What was happening to me had my mind taken over. Had someone put a spell on me? I could not understand what was happening to me, I had never been this bright, this intelligent, or this smart. I decided to go to the doctors.

Again, the doctor did not tell me anything I did not already know. I went for a bite of lunch, and while there, I looked across the road and there was a library. What were the chances of that? I went in and sat. I overheard college students arguing about the answer to a brain teaser they were working on. To my total surprise, I knew the answer and how to explain it. So I did and they were well shocked.

They told me that none of their class or teacher would ever believe that I answered and explained how I got to the answer. When they had been working on it for days. I did not look or act like I could do this in anyway, other than cheating, but as they thought about it, I could not have cheated.

I had walked through the door, heard their debate, and not even looking at a book, computer, or even my phone, I came over and answered it with ease. I also explained it well, so even a person who was not that bright could understand it. I really could not believe what had happened to me. Had I really become smarter than anyone in the world?

#prose  #LettersFromPrison  #wokeupsmarter 
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Written by Squeakypeewee01 in portal Letters From Prison

Prison Blog: Pushing Buttons

Loneliness can be a killer or a savior behind these walls.


For me, being locked up in my box is my sanctuary away from the noise, and meaningless conversations about who died in Eastenders. I much prefer my own company and music. It gives me a chance to reboot from the day’s stress. I can imagine I’m sat here with a long, cold beer, and enjoying a peaceful evening when everyone has gone out.


Yet, there are women who really can’t manage that.


These cells are small, and without many personal possessions, sterile. It’s a frightening thing when that door is locked from the other side. No way of unlocking it for yourself. Only sitting it out, waiting for tomorrow to arrive, can bring any sense that it’s not forever.


What goes through the minds of these women? For some, it is suicide. The only way out, but that is permanent. Others, it’s time to sleep. One of the easier ways in here that will make time seem to go fast.


I often ask myself, what is going to make my life easier when I’m behind my door?


I’m one of the lucky ones; I write, read, and at times, have a sneaky dance to a good rock song. Today, however, it’s a different story. Locked in is going to cause me problems. An elephant living above me. No consideration for the noise she makes.


Anger boiling inside from a group session, threatens to overflow the dam I have in place.


So, suicide watch it is. Just when I need some space, I’ll have a screw checking on me every half hour. Lovely!


Why is it, when it’s quite clear I’m not doing well, people immediately ask, ‘Are you ok?...’ No, I’m fucking not.


Officers have a habit of promising things, then dashing you down right at the last minute. Then they wonder where the ‘anti-social’ behavior comes from. If things look like they are not going to plan, why say, or make a promise?


After a shitty day, I now have to keep my cool so I don’t get into any trouble. After all, I’m an ‘angry’ person! Or at least, that’s what this course is teaching. So far it hasn’t given me anything to work with, just given confirmation that I really am a monster. What bullshit! People can change. I am not what people think I am. I can, and will, do my time inside the easy way. Stop trying to push my buttons. One day you’ll lose a finger!

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Written by Squeakypeewee01 in portal Letters From Prison
Prison Blog: Pushing Buttons
Loneliness can be a killer or a savior behind these walls.

For me, being locked up in my box is my sanctuary away from the noise, and meaningless conversations about who died in Eastenders. I much prefer my own company and music. It gives me a chance to reboot from the day’s stress. I can imagine I’m sat here with a long, cold beer, and enjoying a peaceful evening when everyone has gone out.

Yet, there are women who really can’t manage that.

These cells are small, and without many personal possessions, sterile. It’s a frightening thing when that door is locked from the other side. No way of unlocking it for yourself. Only sitting it out, waiting for tomorrow to arrive, can bring any sense that it’s not forever.

What goes through the minds of these women? For some, it is suicide. The only way out, but that is permanent. Others, it’s time to sleep. One of the easier ways in here that will make time seem to go fast.

I often ask myself, what is going to make my life easier when I’m behind my door?

I’m one of the lucky ones; I write, read, and at times, have a sneaky dance to a good rock song. Today, however, it’s a different story. Locked in is going to cause me problems. An elephant living above me. No consideration for the noise she makes.

Anger boiling inside from a group session, threatens to overflow the dam I have in place.

So, suicide watch it is. Just when I need some space, I’ll have a screw checking on me every half hour. Lovely!

Why is it, when it’s quite clear I’m not doing well, people immediately ask, ‘Are you ok?...’ No, I’m fucking not.

Officers have a habit of promising things, then dashing you down right at the last minute. Then they wonder where the ‘anti-social’ behavior comes from. If things look like they are not going to plan, why say, or make a promise?

After a shitty day, I now have to keep my cool so I don’t get into any trouble. After all, I’m an ‘angry’ person! Or at least, that’s what this course is teaching. So far it hasn’t given me anything to work with, just given confirmation that I really am a monster. What bullshit! People can change. I am not what people think I am. I can, and will, do my time inside the easy way. Stop trying to push my buttons. One day you’ll lose a finger!
#prose  #blog  #LettersFromPrison  #pushingbuttons 
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