After Imprisonment

I stare at the iron bars in sadness. I see other inmates reaching through their cells, like it'll get them out. I watch them like I'm not. Like I'm having an out-of-body experience. Like I'm here and elsewhere. My body is behind these bars but my mind is still in that office. I was so angry. I couldn't stop myself. I leapt forwards and secured the lawyer's throat in my hands. In the back of my mind, I knew it wasn't his fault. He hadn't wanted to tell me the bad news, he was the messenger not the decider. But my family had worked so hard for it and to have it all taken down just like that… I was furious. I attacked the lawyer and almost killed him. I don’t remember who pulled me off. I don’t remember a lot that happened after. Just that I got charged with a twenty-year sentence in prison. After a while it isn’t so bad. You just become numb to it all. I feel like I’m relieving that single moment in my mind over and over until I just collapse. Three years in and it doesn’t change. I never hoped that I would get released early. That lawyer had close connections, the kind of connections that could stop you from ever getting out. I’m not sure I want to anyway. I don’t know what I’d do. My family business is over. My friends wouldn’t want to be close to a former prisoner. I could get a job, but I doubt there would be many companies that would accept me. My life was practically over.

Five years in

Things haven’t changed. People come in thrashing and kicking, or drugged and silent. People leave smiling sadly or grinning that grin which says they’ve been waiting years for this moment. The people that leave are always silent though. They don’t want to get thrown back in. I have fifteen years left, I think. I don’t keep count. The officers do that for me. I haven’t got a cellmate yet but with the amount of new arrivals coming in, I probably will soon. I’m not sure I’ll be able to talk to them though. I haven’t talked since I arrived. I’m starting to think I no longer know how.

Fifteen years in

Only five years left. Lately, I’ve been able to focus more on the now rather back then. It’s probably due to the therapist. The officers have been debating whether it’s worth the last five years in here for me. Apparently I’m the calmest assailant they’ve ever had. They don’t think that’s a good thing. They think I’m silently plotting a way to get back at them all after this is all over. But the truth is, I’m not. I just want to go home.

A week after return to civilisation

I got a job pretty fast. Not a good one, but a needed one. I never had a good life. Even before prison. But, I preferred prison to this. The constant need to function. I still haven’t talk, it’s like it was my throat that got damaged all those years ago rather than the lawyers. My employer doesn’t mind though. He says that as long as I’m good at my job, he doesn’t care about my history or possible disabilities. Surprisingly enough, he works for someone who had close connections to a community that helps people, like lawyers or charity or even rehab centres. The guy I work for though is a business man so I guess you could say I’m right back where I started.

Two years later

I never thought it would happen. I never really wanted it to happen. Hopefully it’s a good change though. My life has turned round this past year. I got the diagnosis of mutism from the doctors back in March and a change of jobs in June. I’m part of the community I’m pretty sure I mentioned two years back. I haven’t done anything big yet. But I’m planning to. My situation was actually better than most and I want to help those who have worse lives than me. I want to make a difference. People don’t listen to therapists or officers because they don’t know what it’s like to lose control. But I do. And I want to use that knowledge for something good. Something worthy. I haven’t contacted my friends yet but it’s been twenty-two years, I doubt they’ll remember me. My family however…

The phone continues to ring. I wasn’t sure I had gotten the right number but this is my sixth try. I need to find them. No one picks up the phone and I sigh, placing it down. I’ll try another day. Then it rings again. I pick it up and open my mouth to answer before I remember. Mutism. Calling my family had pointless this whole time, I would have never been able to respond. “Hello?” A woman’s voice comes from the other end. I recognise it instantly. Olivia. My sister. I start to smile and memorise the phone number. I wish I could have responded but I was useless as she hung up. Well, not completely useless. I typed her phone number into my phone and sent a text. It’s me, Erin. Your brother. You might not believe me, it has been 22 years, but I hope you do. I called a minute ago before I remembered I have mutism. I’m sorry about that. Please respond.

I stare at my phone for a minute but when nothing happens I sigh and put it away. I hear my boss calling me and I come up, remembering that this was the week we put an end to a case the local law offices.

Later that day

I opened the door to the my flat and sighed, checking my phone for any recent updates. I went still. There was a message from my sister.

 I don’t know for sure if you’re Erin but if you are, meet me at the Kindred Tunnel tomorrow 6pm. If you’re truly my brother, you know where it is.

I grin. The Kindred Tunnel is something we made up when we were children, it’s a large rabbit hole next to a cheery tree. Every day we would leave out snacks for the rabbit and we eventually built a cover to go over it at night with a hole only big enough for a rabbit to squeeze through so no one would find it. It was our special place. I felt hope in my heart for the second time in twenty-two years. The first was when I joined MM (Make Miracles) and now when I might finally see my sister in decades. I wasn’t a completely different person. But I do like to think I’ve changed since when I almost killed that lawyer. And I’m glad it was just because of prison. My next step is to contact my friends, maybe one or two of them will be happy to see me. I really hope so.