Two for five, or hate me

Cecil is always in such a state when we bring him out of solitary. This prison has standards, yes. We believe isolation to be an effective means of correcting behaviour.

I came to this prison at the age of twenty-one, expecting nothing. I was quickly promoted, because I didn't let anyone in here get to me. When we met, Cecil was five years into his sentence. He was a challenge.

I wanted to know everything about him. I knew there was only one way of doing so. We needed time alone.

"Let's have a little talk"

He looked at me, resisting.

"You're not in trouble"

He narrowed his eyes, hating me.

"I know what you did, Pariah"

"Of course! I've added two years to your sentence. For your own good"

Cecil stares at me, shocked.

"Two years?"

"Yes, it was originally eight"

Behind my desk, I extend my hand.

"I don't . . . feel . . . very good," breathes Cecil, closing his eyes.

"Then, do you hate me?"

In a place like this
I have no choice but to love you

"Come closer, Jackson"

I produce a bag of black seeds. I spill them onto the desk and they stick to my fingers like tiny beads. I like the intense smell, the colour and the texture. The administration wanted five years. I negotiated.

In a place like this
It is better to be hated than loved
Blame me
When you get out
You won't hate society as much as I do