Out Of The Hole

  He hadn't really wanted to come up here in the first place, BUT finally gave in to the pleas of the inner voice that had KEPT nagging at him that he NEEDED some time to HIMSELF.

    "MORE!!? That would BE selfish of you!", the 'other' inner voice had BLURTED out one too many times. 

    He had finally had it with that demon[s] that ALWAYS had something TOXIC to say. And ever since he had heard it, he couldn't help but replay to himself the verses from the track "Change" by a popular artist named NF, "Oh you want to tell me something NEGATIVE! I don't want to hear what you think." And so with that he packed a bag and off he went.

    The daily battle had begun almost as soon as he had opened his eyes. The internal wars between his heart and mind had been going on as long as he could remember. And TODAY, had been no different. Two days in and here he was. Again. 

   He had been at it all day, So NOW he counted the logs one more time. But one more time, actually meant one more time twice, because he counted them from top to bottom then right back up. This would be his 100th set. 

   He used this technique to keep his mind from wandering. To keep his thoughts from scattering. To keep the images that haunted him, at bay. He had learned how to do this during the many many moments he'd spent in the several single solitary confinement cells while he had been incarcerated. The "hole" as some know it. A deeper form of imprisonment while being in a prison to get 'punished' for violating certain rules. 

    He hadn't really meant to end up in those places BUT the possibilty had ALWAYS existed since he had been engaging in said actions of violating said rules. He had NEVER agreed with the system's ways of handling "justice" BUT he NEVER was ignorant enough to 'buck it' like some of the others did. That meant even MORE days in the hole and/or NO shower. No food for a day or two. No REC time, which was ONE hour a week outside of the building. Or even worse; ALL OF THE ABOVE plus get beaten to a pulp by the guards. No sir. Not him. He kept his troubles to himself. 

    While there, the inmate is allowed a thirty minute shower, while for the other 23 and a half hours of the day there is only the sight of a door with a small window, painted cinderblocks, a small table attached to the wall the same color and a shiny metal toilet. Of course that depends on whose looking. He sat on his bunk. He looked at the blocks and counted them. Top to bottom. Bottom to top. 105 blocks. 

100 logs. Last count. 

   As soon as he finished the count, he reflected on how he had actually made it out. And he knew this because the cold he felt was NOT from laying on a cold plastic covered mattress without sheets. No. The cold came from the weather outside. He could hear the wind blowing and the snow falling on the cabin walls. He got up from the bed to look out the window to confirm the snow. White floors. Yep. Snowing. "Nice", he said under his breath. 

He had never seen snow. From what he could see, it was everywhere. As far down as he could see. He took the site all in. He did the best he could to find peace in the moment. He hadn't thought coming upstate would be this great for him. He went back to sit on the bed to finish 'reflecting'. 

   He heard howling beyond the walls. One after the other the wolves let out their daunting cry. He did his best to decipher their different tones so he could add facial features to the sounds. It reminded him of when he would do the same sitting in his bunk cell and could hear the sounds of the other inmates screaming. Some screaming to PLEASE be fed. Some screaming to PLEASE be attended to because they felt sick. Some screaming to PLEASE PLEASE be let out. The worst ones were the ones screaming to PLEASE be forgiven. He knew THEY were screaming at THEIR own DEMONS. He pictured so many distraught faces. Especially after the banging on the doors began. One after the other they would bang on the doors as they screamed. He just counted the cinder blocks. A scratch at the window made him snap out from the flashback. He looked towards it to see a shadow move beyond the blurriness of the light due to the snow falling. He wanted to get up to look out but decided against it. 

    It would get dark soon and with no electricity, he had to make due with what light was provided from the outside. It sneaked in through the window so he set his sight on where it shined the most. The wall of logs. Nicely stacked on top of each other so tight they formulated a wall. A very secure airtight wall. He admired the work one more time. He couldn't help but wonder if the person who constructed these walls would count the logs. He wondered if it mattered how many logs. The crevices in the logs resembled a little the ones from the cinder blocks. He wondered what cement or what was used to make them stick together so smooth and secure. He began wondering many things after that. There was no internet to search for what could satisfy his curious thoughts. Nor was there phone service to place a call to someone, anyone to ask them what he felt he needed to know, so he instead looked around to find a focal point. Door. Shiny object. Light. Logs. 

"What's ONE more time?" 

He begins to count. Top to bottom. Bottom to top.