Saturday's Child

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You will be taken to the prison reception.

Reception made me think of an airy room with a bubbly blonde behind a counter, all smiles and bright eyes. It was a room, that's where the similarity ended. Badly lit. It smelled vaguely of shit, and I couldn't place the source. I didn't mind. I'd get used to it.

Already conditioning myself.

You will be allowed to keep some things. These things will become your ‘property’. You will be asked to sign a form saying that you have seen what is in your bag, and that it has been sealed in front of you.

They asked if I understood what was happening to me. I stared at the fat guy with the pockmarked skin behind the reception desk. I watched the way his face moved. His cheeks buckled around the sides of his mouth. Before he got a chance to ask me again, I nodded. I understood exactly what was happening to me. I leaned over to sign the form. My wrist ached as I pressed down on the pen. When I set it down, I noticed blue ink on the inside of my hand.

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