If you are reading this, it means my cell mate stole my dairy and obviously published it. Am Kola Robert and yes, i’m in a cell or better still am behind the walls.
Life has been…..well, not entirely helpful. It has thought me lessons that no living being can ever do. Death would have been a preferable punishment. When a person dies, his soul goes to a better place….or so it seems, but behind the walls it’s just absence. It’s like being in a coma but your eyes are wide open.
The jailer beat us so hard our tears leave scars. Our only sense of escape is in our dreams. Grown men sucking their index finger and dreaming of ponies and little mermaids, just to survive. It’s like the word love didn’t exist.
Pain now our daily bread. The only difference between you and your jailer apart from the 5 inch steel bars is the gun at his back, and the fact that there is a high chance of him been soulless. No escape, no breakouts, no riots, only countless numbers of deaths and some cases where inmates are put in straitjackets and sent to the asylum. They take even your inner peace, by playing a broken record over and over again.
How I got here? I myself sometimes wonder. Just as the moon hides till it’s night, we hide our sanity for as long as we can.
I’ll love to continue, but it’s almost light’s out and am sure you don’t want to know what happens when the lights go out. Remember, because you don’t see, it doesn’t mean it’s not there.
July 19th 1833
Get updates on our posts by joining our BBM Channel via C00396EEB, if you are reading from mobile click: http://pin.bbm.com/C00396EEB