The Bars That Hold Us Read Online Free PDF Page A

oblivious to my inner unrest. He mustn’t feel the cold, because tonight, the air bites like a bitch. Most inmates who arrive in the summer are fooled into thinking that the flimsy tracksuit and blanket will be enough to keep them warm at night. They soon realize that their thinking has been misplaced. It’s hard to settle when there is nothing but coldness and hardness around you. Well, it is for me anyway.
    I pull up my blanket around my ears, neglecting my feet in the process. Being in here is all about sacrifice. You’ve got to make choices wisely. You could end up dead otherwise.
    The only consolation amongst the constant upheaval of prison life is that in another year, I’ll be out. That’s more than can be said for most of the crims in here. Some of these guys are doing all day , which is what we call a life sentence; and the only way out for them is if they get a Back door parole . No, they don’t actually get parole. It means they die in prison.
    I try and sleep, but it alludes me tonight. There is too much going on in my headspace for me to relax. Besides, there’s an inmate bunking in an opposite cell who’s choking his chicken like nobody’s business. The moans and grunts are enough to make the hair on my arms stand on end. It’s one thing to watch a porno, but to hear a guy masturbating a few feet away, it gets you excited whether you want to be or not. I’m no fag, but he could be fucking a woman for all intents and purposes. In the dark, it’s the noises that control you.
    I feel my dick getting hard. It happens more frequently since I’ve been in here, which is probably because I’m not getting any or rarely flogging myself off. Some of these guys can do it while everyone else is looking on. Not me. I need a little privacy for those kinds of things.
    To distract myself, I start thinking about food; anything to take my mind away from what’s going on. This is like replacing one coveted thing with another. Hardly fair, when there is no hamburger joint in the vicinity. Like the beer, I can only daydream about the greasy, cheesy, beef burger I’m craving. My stomach rumbles in response. I’ve no clock, but I know it’s been hours since we had chow. It’s probably getting close to midnight if my internal clock is still functioning properly.
    I’m lying quite still when the sound of footsteps padding quietly down the hall alert s me. The cell I’m in is isolated at the very end of the hall, farthest from the custodial station. If shit goes down, even without the staff in on it, it’s going to take long enough for them to get down here that someone could end up hurt—badly.
    Hesitation. Time as we know it stops. Even the masturbator is deathly quiet. Clinton still snores while my heart rate jack-knifes to an all-time high. The blood pumping through my body is doing a tremendous job of coursing through my veins without actually giving me a heart attack. The deafening roar in my ears is only surpassed by a dry mouth that’s making my tongue stick to the roof of it.
    The bars of our cell start to slide back, the little mechanical cog whining as it recedes in its tracks. Four dark figures enter our c age, quickly, calculated and precise. I freeze, determined that whatever is about to go down, does not take me with it. The only place for me to go is back up against the solid concrete wall that frames one side of our bunks. I’m ready to kick the first person who approaches me in the face.
    I recognize one of them. He’s Clinton’s fuck-buddy from D Block. Lionel is his name. He covers his lips with one finger, shushing me into silence. Believe me, if they’re here for Clinton, they can damn well have him. I’ll remain quiet no matter who’s making the demands.
    The prison is starting to stir. The noise of the door has alerted those inmates who are still awake that shit is about to go down. It’s like Chinese whispers as news of what’s shaking spreads down the row of cells. Whatever these