An Interesting Story - A Prisoners experience.

An Interesting Story - A Prisoners experience

Today seems different. The sun has found a way to lend its light to the dark cell which has become
my room, and I can see a rat huddled in the corner, long dead. I smile when I remember what my
previous cellmate had said about this cell being the best in the prison.

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"Man, forget it. This cell's the best on the block mehn", he had said in that his hoarse, weed-
peppered voice. That was before the prison warden had come to take him out. He had died in his
sleep.
Today the list of the lucky prisoners that would be sent home will be called out. Yesterday my
mother had visited me, praying for me as she held me close to her bosom, her tears splattering all
over my bald head. I had sat there, stupefied, but not enough to forget to say the 'amens' that were
my contribution to the prayers. She had said, emotion choking her tiny voice, "Tomorrow when
they call out the list of prisoners that will be released, your name will not be found missing. Your
name will not be found missing. Your name will not be found missing." I had said three amens to
that prayer, one after each 'found missing'.

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I spring to my feet. It seems that the prisoners have been summoned, and I can hear other cells
clattering open. Mine is opened, and I step briskly out of the cell and into the courtyard. We take
our numbers, and I position myself at the front row, where I will be able to hear 'The General' read
out the names.
"All hail the General!", the prison warden shouts for all to repeat. We do.

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Just a little distance beyond the gate I can see a large number of people gathered, most of whom
had family in prison. I scan the crowd for my mother, and on sighting her my heart misses a beat.
She is at the front row, and her eyes are fixed on the General.
"Belinda Roberts", the General rumbles. All eyes turn on the scanty gentleman who had just gotten into prison. He had been brought in last week screaming at the top of his small voice, "I am innocent! I am innocent!".
The next person called is a six-foot-three, dark-skinned young man. He looks nothing like the
rough life, but his looks have nothing to do with his way of life. Tom had served as our prison
king for three years, before he was overthrown by Small Dagger.
As soon as he hears his name he tears his shirt and proceeds to run to and fro the courtyard,
screaming like a man who had just won a bet after so many losses. "Thank you Jesus! Thank you
Jesus!" He then proceeds to kneel before the General. "Thank you. Thank you."

I ignore him, and look at the faces of everyone,am observing. Emotions are having a field day on the faces of the men. Even the toughest of us don't look so tough today. I put my hand in my pocket and draw out the note the preacher had given me on his last visit. The note read simply, "Trust in God, even if you have other options." The preacher usually came to the prison on weekends to share hope with us for whom life had lost meaning, and when he heard about the intended release of some prisoners, he had come to encourage us to trust God, however things turned out. I had agreed with him. I return the stares that have turned on me all of a sudden. Is there poop on my body? How long have they been staring at me? Have I been too deep-in-thought not to have noticed them? I am embarrassed. I ignore them and fix my gaze on the General. He too is looking at me. And then it hits me - my name has just been called. I do not know if I should hug the General, or the prison warden, or hug myself first. I hug myself. Then the tears come pouring.
I hug my mother passionately outside the prison walls, sobbing uncontrollably. She wipes my tears
with her head-tie and says to me, "I brought your son, Bills".
"Mama", I say.
"I knew you would be released today".
"Mama", I say again.

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