Fear of the dark | Ediz. Inglese

🌹 chapter three

The Orleans Prison was one of many prisons in Louisiana, perhaps the least known. On the outside it was a seemingly safe and welcoming building; the olive green and white walls gave the impression that it was a quiet place. It was surrounded by a concrete fence with barbed wire on top, and the opaque black gate was always well stocked with guards.
The prison had been built on the opposite side of town, away from the main roads. It was located in the mountains of New Orleans, in a remote place outside civilisation.
The driveway dividing the gate from the front door had been highlighted by small white stones and on either side one could see spring greenery and on the latter some hedges covered with flowers. Everything implied welcome, in the sight of anyone who approached, but new faces were rarely seen crossing that driveway.
Inside it was anything but welcoming.
Through the front door, a large room with grey and white walls appeared almost bare. Only a desk to the right, some wooden chairs leaning against the wall, a notice board full of notices and a couple of fake plants below could be seen.
Beyond that space, opposite to the left, was a staircase, and to the right some offices and the door leading to the field.
The staircase connected with the first floor; the air was used up, as the window in the corridor was always closed.
The first floor was divided into three corridors: it housed the cells; every two, an iron bar locked. While the corridors to the right and left contained other rooms, including a large gymnasium, the rest room where one could read a book, play cards or chess or simply look through the window bars. And the exit to the terrace.

 It was nine o'clock in the morning, we had finished breakfast quite a while ago when, quietly watching some comrades play basketball, right on that terrace, I felt my arm grabbed. I was dragged away by that feeling of peace.
«What the fuck do you want?» I was ignored and pulled forcefully down the corridor. The guard stopped in front of a door, just before he clamped my wrists with handcuffs, then opened it and threw me inside, making me fall to the ground.
I quickly got up and looked around: the room was clean. I walked to the window and turned my back to it, looking at the table and the two chairs around it, lit by natural light.
I filled my lungs to capacity and my breath caught when I heard heels crossing the corridor. They were catching up with me.