Ella
I feel pleasantly woozy as I shut my window and slip into my canopy bed. It’s nights like these when I remember why I am alive. Swaddling myself in flannel sheets, I curl up into a ball and pull the plaid duvet over my head. I can still smell the smoke in my hair from the bonfire. I am so relieved that my parents went out of town this weekend. My soft mattress swallows me as I melt and become one with the satin pillowcase. Night is a time of peacefulness, of rest, of relaxation. Night is an escape from the sharp reality of high school situations. I’ve always been the dreamer, the one who wanted to fly high. The one who has the potential to fly high. My thoughts continually float from scheme to scheme, constantly pondering the detail of everything. I can be a very mean person- in my head. I process plans that could ruin the lives of those around me. Inside my mind, I am vengeful; in reality, I’m not. I can’t stand to watch others experience pain. My mom says that I’m just nice, and that nice people don’t have good high school experiences. Although, I don’t think I would consider my high school experience bad. I have a 4.5 GPA and am a 3 season varsity athlete, it’s just a question of the amount of fun I’m having.
My eyelids seal shut as my mind slips into a world of endless possibilities, a world without stress or situations to handle. A world that is a blank slate waiting to be written at the hands of my whims. My limp body melds with the tent of blankets and…
Clouds of magenta fog surround me as I clasp a soft, masculine hand. I see his wispy silhouette through the mist. My heart starts to throb as an internal fire flushes throughout my entire body. Panels of blue silk fall from the sky and billow to the ground. I can see only his eyes as he steps forward to embrace me. Whether it was from the alcohol of earlier that night or my own general personality, a sort of loopy romanticism washes over me as I feel him kiss my forehead.
I wriggle happily and roll over to my left, when a heavy thump of great force on the bed breaks my slumber. I hear a spring break upon impact and by reflex immediately sit up. I see a dark figure making sharp, indecisive movements next to the edge of my bed, torn between me and the window of escape. Although it is only a few moments, a few ticks of the second hand on a clock, time slows down for the deciding moments of one’s life. More clearly and more memorable can a few important seconds be than the hours upon hours and days upon days in the scheme of our lives. And it only takes a moment for me to glimpse his face and know why he is here.
My wave of panicked adrenaline hasn’t even had time to arrive when his muscular left arm swings a large mallet towards the right side of my head. The last thing I hear is a shrill shriek whose owner is unbeknownst to me.
Jennifer
Mundane would probably be the perfect word to describe my life right now. Sit, sleep, eat, work: life in prison isn’t very exciting. Not to mention trying to do all these things, which is just as difficult. Working in the prison speaks for itself, I don’t quite think anyone finds kitchen duty exciting. Eating is difficult, because of the quality of the food we’re given. If I ever leave here, remind me never to eat another oyster, glass of grape juice, or stick of beef jerky. I’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime. Sleeping isn’t even a time for relaxation, because the makeshift beds do no justice to the rigid floor upon which we (as in, us inmates) live.
My new lifestyle, however boring it is, is very contrasting to that of my old town, Ridgestone. A small town with large houses, one could barely walk down the street without recognizing nine out of the ten people that they passed. The only form of entertainment other than parties where people drunk their parent’s alcohol was to sit at Starbucks and drink exciting caffeinated beverages. Even in comparison to Ridgestone, mundane would certainly be the perfect word to describe my life right now. Ever noticed how mundane events or rituals are always preceded by exciting ones? For example, think back to your first day of kindergarten. Remember how excited you were, with your new backpack, your new teacher, and all of your new friends? That first day of kindergarten began a long stretch of monotony that would end on Graduation Day, senior year.
Senior year was supposed to be my year, my time to shine. I know it’s very clichéd, but I always imagined myself at prom, surrounded by a gorgeous boyfriend and my best friends.
It’s almost comical how wrong I was. Now I’m confined to a jail cell, with no close friends and only prison-guards to keep me company. No dancing and dresses either. I am a 17 year old in jail because I was convicted of killing my best friend the summer before senior year.
I writhe under the scratchy blanket. Luxurious is no word to portray the clammy and musty box that I live in. It’s always
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