A sample reading from The Sound of Night

         Sitting on the worn wooden bench I am surprised by the absolute conviction that I am going to kill people. People with family's, with Moms and dads, sisters and brothers, sons and daughters. This thought speeds through my mind to fast to even grasp, while the thought of the injustice done to me meanders and takes it's time through my thought process.   

         I find myself drifting back, back to the time of my incarceration. Not often do I allow myself to think back to that time. I spend most of my life trying to hide it.I pretend it never happened. I tell myself that the past does not matter, only the future matters. Sitting on this bench in this park on this day I can tell you, and myself that that is a lie. Your past shapes and defines you more than your future could ever hope to. For it is your past that directly dictates your future.                                                                                                                                                                                       Realizing this depresses me. I always felt like I had a shot in life. A good chance to make something of myself. Yet underneath all the hope and aspirations lay the negatives. The thoughts of hate, anger and how unfair my life has played out. As I said before I've spent over a decade of trying to do the right thing, meshing myself with society. Now I feel a decade worth of retaliation and retribution for what I've been through is in order. For some reason this thought brings with it the slight tug of a smile. The smile continues to spread as I think about spreading the pain inside of me to other, shall I say more deserving people.

         Being incarcerated is not really a difficult thing. You do something that does not fit within the cultural milieu of society, break a law, steal from, cheat and or hurt someone and everyone knows if you get caught you are going to end up in jail with a bunch of other individuals that have made the same choice. You walk into a room with seventy plus criminals all staring at you. The majority of them knowing your crime before you even get to your cell. You are automatically ranked among the other inmates based on your crime of choice.

         I learned this within ten minutes of being in jail. There is no orientation, no lecture on what to expect, no advice. There is nothing. You are placed in this environment and it is up to you and the crime you committed of course whether you sink or swim. My first day of incarceration I was lucky. I didn't get placed in my cell until three A.M. Almost everyone is sleeping at that time. I was pushed into a massive cinder block room with a guard sitting behind a desk. The guard did not bother looking up at me, just handed me a plastic cup with a plastic spoon, a very tiny toothbrush and toothpaste and an information packet stuffed inside. The guard tells me to grab the single fire blanket that lay on the desk and to "cell in" to C-6 203. As I scanned the cells lining the back wall for the numbers, the guard calls my name and says " try not to get yourself hurt." With that I climb the stairs to what will become my home for the next five years and try not to awake the scary looking individual that is asleep on the bottom bunk. I am unsuccessful. As I throw my blanket on the top bunk I see he is staring at me. I manage to squeak out a "hey" in greeting. He responds by demanding my toothbrush and toothpaste.

         I said earlier that being incarcerated is not really difficult, I never said that it was not terrifying. Short my dental hygiene products and some pride, I lay on my bunk and wonder just how in the hell all this happened to me. At only eighteen years of age I was still a scared kid. The law says your a man at the age of eighteen thus you do "man" time. No more juvenile detention halls or youth authority's. I realized this is for the big boy's. Laying on my bunk trying to drift off to sleep I definitely felt out of my element, to say the least.

         The slap of rubber on concrete brings me out of my recollection and back to the present. I see an attractive brunette jogging past me on the trail. She smiles and gives a little wave. I do not acknowledge her. I am too busy. Too busy with the thoughts of me as an eighteen year old. No longer am I going to run from my past.I am determined to think this through. For the first time I am going to acknowledge my past. I cannot embark on my future endeavor of killing without justifying it to at least myself.

         I remember the first morning of my incarceration like it was this morning. I awake to the sound of multiple cell doors opening simultaneously. I climb down from my bunk to find I am alone.Everyone is shuffling in the direction of the day room where breakfast is being served. I grab my cup and exit my cell.

         Three steps out of my cell I am rocked in the face by a sucker punch. As I turn towards my attacker I am grabbed from behind and shoved back into my cell. Now I am not alone.I turn and face the three men blocking the exit to my cell. All of them seem to look alike, shaved heads with bushy sideburns. Two of the three have tattoos on their face. All of them have identical tattoos on their arms that say " White Trash." I know I am in trouble before the first one speaks. " It takes a real tough man to drag a bitch in the bushes and fuck her. Don't it?" I begin to tell them it is a mistake, that I would never hurt a women. All that comes out is a stutter. The one clear of tattoos on his face kicks me in the stomach. Hard. I double over and clutch my midsection. An uppercut lands on my chin, dropping me to the floor.

         I look up at these monsters of society and realize they see me as the monster. In their eyes I am the sludge of society. "Now you're gonna see how it feels." The one on the left says as he pulls his pants down. The other two reach down, grab my hair and turn me over. I try to fight. I thrash and kick. I only succeed in getting two of my ribs broken. I began to scream, before the sound reaches fruition a dirty sock is stuffed into my screaming orifice. My pants and state issued underwear are ripped down. I thrash and squirm as the first one enters me. With each thrust my rectum rips further. The pain doubles. The agony seems to go on forever. When it is finally over, it begins again as they take turns on me. After awhile all I can do is repeat what I know..." I didn't do it." " I didn't do it....." Until fading to black. I awake in the Infirmary, on my stomach and in e