I don’t know much about the world; I was born here in this prison and here I was raised. My mother called me Octavio. I can’t say she was very loving, loving in this situation doesn’t seem viable. She gave me a name and I’m thankful for it; here many are just plates with numbers and the name of our prison. They took her away a year after my birth… she cried at night, I don’t blame her, I cry too.
Living in prison isn’t easy. We barely have space to stand and lie down, that’s all, I’ve never been able to see beyond my cell, but I know there are many of us. The air is thick and everything is foul-smelling. They feed us and bathe us by force, with no respect or compassion. Beyond overcrowding, the worst thing is the guards and the treatment, who show no empathy towards us and from time to time, they take the older ones to the red building, where we know it’s the end.
The cell doors clang, fear enters the pavilion first and then they enter. Screams echo through the halls. The youngest retract within the limited space, the older ones twist in their cells.
Like everyone else, I’m afraid, but I also feel tired. I think no one deserves this life, as I take a step forward, just as the guard passes by my cell. He stops, examines me, and nods. A man checks my plate and an electric shock forces me to move forward. I join the line that leads to the outskirts of the pavilion, while the others cry out of fear.
It moves me to feel the sun on my skin, stretch my muscles, breathe fresh air, and see something beyond my square feet and a half of space, even if it’s just for a few moments. We approach the doors of the red building, I see for the last time the name of the prison that was my home and curse: «High-Quality Pork Butchery».
In the end, I feel no fear. Today I met the sun and walked my last day, it was a good day.
Mixpov 