Alexandria Amora Garcia

Chapter One

Freedom. I can almost taste it. For most people, this would be a beautiful day, returning to family and friends, their normal lives and jobs, things would go back to the way they were. But not for me, I have nothing left, nowhere to go. My fiance was killed in a freak car accident a few years back. My mother has been dead since I was three years old, I never knew her or much about her, just that she died of cancer. My father was deported back to Mexico last year, and my brother and I don't speak anymore, not after what happened. He could be dead for all I care. I've been in prison the past five years, and it really changed me. I used to be a sweet and caring girl, a selfless person who wouldn't hurt a butterfly. Then one night, my brother snapped. He murdered his girlfriend, and framed me. I couldn't afford a lawyer, but I didn't qualify to be presented with a lawyer by the government. I pleaded innocent, but my brother staged the scene too well. I was found guilty, and sentenced five years in this hell hole. At first, I was shy in here, kept my hair in my face to avoid eye contact with other inmates, and stayed in my cell as much as possible. One day, at dinner, some guy grabbed me by my hair and lifted me out of my seat, yelling obscene things at me. I didn't know him, hadn't done him any wrong. I was horrified, but I closed my eyes and kicked as hard as I could. I hit him right in the crotch, and we was down on his knees. I felt something I had never felt before. Powerful. I was shaking with anticipation. He had tears in his eyes, clutching his groin, goraning. I took two fingers and placed them under his chin, and made him look up at me. "Look buttercup, I wasn't really planning on this, but suddenly I'm really hungry. I might just need your food too. You could always say no, but if I were you, I wouldn't want to." He gritted his teeth, "No way you little-" BAM. My fist collided with his jaw, hard. His eyes rolled back, and he fell limp. I knocked him out cold. Silence surrounded me. I feed off it. I felt power overwhelming in me, adrenaline pumping, excitement stirring, I felt alive. Like I had been dead and didn't even know it. I hardly even noticed when the guards grabbed me and dragged me back to my cell; I was too alive. Laughter. That's all I remember. I laughed. All. Night. Long. People looked at me differently after that day. Like they were afraid. Their fear filled me like a wildfire, and spread through every inch of my inner being. I began working out. I hardly slept. Crunches, situps, pushups, squats, I didn't know many exercises, but I did everything I could possibly think of, and I'd work out for hours on end. The burn I felt was my motivation. More. I needed more. I wanted to burn like I hope my brother does someday. I want to taste it. Feel it. I lived off rage, exercise, and pushing people around. I didn't make any friends while I've been here. I've sat alone, and I loved it. The solitude, that's my only friend. In a prison, silence is rare. But the moments that bring it are like a tall glass of ice cold lemonade on a hot summer day. Silence, I thrived off it. If my mother were alive today, I'm sure she wouldn't recognize me.

The prison bus is slowing down to stop. My hands are shaking. I can finally taste freedom, but what does it taste like? Hunger? Luxury? What's changed since I've been in the outside world?