Prisoners

Do you remember your first job? I do. All those years ago I served as a guard in a prison. It closed long ago but I still remember working there as if it were yesterday. I’ll never forget it.

When new prisoners arrived I assisted my fellow guards in organising who would go where, and then escort groups of these people to their destination. Obviously I also had to ensure that, as a guard, no one escaped. Other than that, my duties mainly comprised of manning the watchtowers and patrolling the perimeter fences. The shifts in the watchtowers were particularly lengthy. There were often up to twelve hours at the time without respite, even to pee.

Other personnel on the site had more direct contact with the prisoners, and I can tell you it was pretty brutal. Those who complied with staff got off relatively lightly, but those who resisted… I often heard the beatings and the screaming while on patrol. Some of those who used force against the prisoners did it because they believed it was necessary, whereas others seemed to enjoy it. They tended to beat the prisoners for no reason at all.

I seldom had to use force against prisoners. But it did happen. Though rare, prisoner uprisings and escape attempts did happen. When coming face to face with these people, most of them looked at me in the same way. Most of them were afraid. In some however, I could see hatred in their eyes. A hatred that some of the guards and other personnel at the site shared for the prisoners themselves.

As time went by, it became almost scary how efficient the system had become. This is also extraordinary considering that we dealt with every kind of prisoner, regardless of age or sex.

One day in my watchtower, I remember seeing someone running out of a building and crawling through a hole in a perimeter fence. Quickly I was down the ladder running towards what looked like a young girl.

By the time I had reached the hole in the fence, she had managed to get through and was running as fast as she could away from the prison. If she were an adult, she may have got away. I pursued her and soon enough, I caught up with her.

As I approached, she looked at me in the same way they all did. Her eyes were wide with fear. People fear what they do not understand, and being so young she did not understand why she was here. When I approached she spoke to me. “What’s going to happen to us?” Her voice broke when she asked, so I replied in a gentle manner to try and keep her calm.

“Don’t be afraid little one,” though those words had little effect as she recoiled from my arm. I slowed my approach, and very slowly reached out to her offering her my hand smiling down at her. Cautiously she took it, but I could see she was still terrified of the unknown.

As I led her back to the prison she began to shake, so I tried my best to comfort her.

“Don’t worry little one, it’s just a shower...”