Once

It's dull and pretends to be sanitary. The shape that pervades is the rectangle and its insider, the square. The walls, the corners of the halls, and the rooms; above the ceiling tiles, and below the mopped linoleum, all conform to the official order, disinfected by the florescent panels that confuse day and night, to the weary and worried bloodshot eye.

After the obligatory grope by tan uniforms with badges and holsters and walk-talkie, and digital scanner, there is a denial of personal items, and a jangling of keys. One hears what one expects. The keys are replaced by swipe cards. The labeled ziplock bag is filed. Shuffling muffles. Dull voices. The cell also loses those remnants of personality, the lines of separate tiles, and becomes a concrete slab, drab and hardened, like designed to make one on the brink, become criminal in thought. It is the wait that is most palpable. Sitting.

One doesn't think of eating. Pissing, shitting in public.

The phone call pervades the thoughts.

Words that in moments will be exchanged and hover incoherently afterwards.

This I only know because I went to pick up Mother from an overnight.

We weren't able to bring the bond soon enough that time.

It was early morning. Dark, and when she got out it was like Daylight for us.

Even with the shadows behind, and her nervous laughter that she thought she heard rats.

09.14.2023

1rst Prison Day challenge @GentlmanBastard