The buzzers go off and the lights flick on one-by-one in a wave like formation. It's 5 A.m. and I've been here a week but it feels like a **** year. Breakfast is being served in the mess hall but I have no intention on going. I am scared shitless of what might happen to me. Yesterday, one of the brothers flipped my tray full of food all over my lap and ran his thumb across his throat motioning that he wanted to slit mine. I didn't do a damn thing. I cant run forever. I have to man up. If this dude wants to kill me, he is going to kill me and there isn't a damn thing that I can do about it. I have four years and three-hundred and fifty-eight days left.
I was all balls before I got here, even after the judge slammed the gavel down. That all changed the second I stepped into Cell Block 3. The balls that I once had shriveled into tiny raisins. I quickly became a scared and helpless child. Prison is pretty damn close to what you see in the movies believe it or not. Except, it's much worse because, well, this isn't a **** movie. This is my life for the next five years. I dont want to get out of this bed.
Yestersday we were out in the yard. Some dudes were lifting weights but most were working on their connections and setting up drug deals. I sat in a corner against the wall by myself and smoked cigarettes, trying hard not to attract any attention. I won a bundle of smokes off of a brother last night in a game a spades. That has been the highlight of my stay here so far. All the brothers smoke Newports though and the **** menthol tears the **** out of my throat. I tell myself that it is still better than no cigarettes at all though.
I thought I was pretty well out of sight but I guess I was wrong. One of Puerto Ricans approached me, which is the last thing I **** wanted. "Hey homes, how about lettin' me get one of those sqaures off ya?" he said to me. I wanted to tell him no. I wanted to tell him to get ****, but I didn't. I began to shake like an abused puppy. I reluctantly handed him one of my hard earned smokes. He snached it out of my hand like he thought I would change my mind and quickly secured it in his goofy looking red bandana. He winked at me and made this clicking sound with his mouth and darted off back to his " Home Boys". I am down to six sticks now and that wont even last me another two **** hours! Not even two minutes went by when two other Ricans approached me from the same group that the other one ran off to. One of them was huge and was tatted up all over his skull and the other one was short but had a build like Arnold schwarzenegger.
The big one spoke to me in a calm but stern voice, " Hey man, you gotta couple more of those that you could let go?" For some reason that I still can't explain, my balls grew a little bigger this time. " No man, I'm sorry, I only got a few left", I said to him, trying to hold back any hint of fear in my voice. He nodded in a friendly manner but the little guy glared up at me like he wanted to bury me. The little guy didn't scare me, I wanted to drop kick his midget **** across the yard. The big guy spoke again, " Can you atleast give up one for me and boy to split?" I had to keep making my balls grow. "No man, I cant do it, go ask one of the brothers for one." I struck a nerve in the big guy by saying that, he got angry quick. " We dont associate with those pieces of ****!" He moved up within an inch of my face. " Alright, I tried to be all civil and **** with you, now I am just going to **** take them from ya !"
The big one grabbed me by my throat and held me up against the brick wall, while his midget bitch dug through my pockets and snatched my smokes. The little bitch than preceeded to beat the **** out of my ribs while I was still hanging in the air by my throat. The big one yelled some spanish **** into my face and head butted me hard sending a white flash of light through my eyes. He let me fall to the ground and both beaners slowly walked away with my smokes.
The gaurds are walking past are cells screaming at us to get ready for breakfast. Screw that noise, I just want to stay in my cell. I would just rather starve to death. There is no point for me to go eat in that damn mess hall when something shitty is problably going to happen to me anyway.
At dinner the other day, A skinhead approached me while I was trying to enjoy my roast beef and mashed potatoes. He was trying to preach all this Hitler youth, white power nonesense to me. He was trying to recruit me into the Aryan Brotherhood. I told him thanks but no thanks and tried to continue enjoying my dinner of stale processed meat and potatoes. He told me that he couldn't wait until the brothers and Ricans raped the **** out of me and took my tray and threw it all over the floor.
I just sat there like a little bitch. Just thinking about yesterday makes me want to kill myself. I want to tie up my sheets and hang myself from the top bunk but I think I am to tall. I really dont mind if I go to hell. It can't be worse than this. I have only been here a week and just thinking about breakfast makes me shake like Michael J. Fox. I have four years and three-hundred and fifty-eight days left.