BY AMR ABDUR RASHEED

I awake to a haze of burning brightness from the fluorescent lights that linger directly over my bunk. The shine strains against the darkness of my slumber, pulling me from a distant dream state back into my bleak reality. What is this bleak reality of which I speak? Opening my eyes to witness 20 other souls being snatched from their sleep and back into the throes of a prison dorm. 

A symphony of groans and yawns are married with the sounds of sucking teeth and the breaking of wind. I remember a time when this scene would bring with it a stench that would shock the system… but it is sad to say that after nearly 20 years, my senses have grown numb to it all. 

Minutes after the makeshift fluorescent sun signals the start of a new day, an obnoxious bell is rung. What follows is a routine ramble over a loudspeaker ordering the standing for 6:00 a.m. count. In “Thriller”-like fashion, men rise up from their assigned graves to stand at attention in order for their bodies to be counted and checked for signs of life. Being that my bunk is closest to the door, I have been designated as the count crier, alerting all those chained that the overseers are “on the move!” 

After this unified act of standing, there is a scramble of sorts among the counted. Some rush to the restroom to relieve their bowels and bladders from the residual filth collected overnight from the previous day. Others stretch out, desperately seeking to clutch the comforts of an e-cigarette, resembling infants seeking to suckle the teat offering their mothers’ milk. “Mothers’ milk” in this case consists of a blast of nicotine needed by some to cope with the stress of their circumstances. 

A few men find themselves preparing for prayer, taking water and washing their hands, faces, arms, heads, and feet in an attempt to purify their bodies from the unseen impurities that have become attached to them. It is here where I find myself, amongst the prisoners who pray for patience to survive the continuous cycle of monotony. 

Life behind wire is shadowed in variants of grey. The world in here appears to be stripped of the cornucopia of colors that paint the picture of freedom. The industrial nature of the system goes against the natural order of nature itself. Here, names are replaced by numbers, and the identities of men and women are reduced to a binary formula of zeroes and ones. Zeroes and ones ensure that the process for warehousing humans is as efficient as possible.