Eve, I have seen things! Things that are unspeakable. Things that the ear will bleed upon hearing. I have seen terror, horror, pain and even joy. I’ve gained ‘family’ and I’ve lost members of my ‘family’ too.

Benny was a boy who was relocated to my cell after a ‘daddy’ raped him. He was sweet, spoke little and was full of dreams. I believed in him. Just like me, he was serving a term without trial. He had been in the house for two years. He was accused of stealing a backpack from a white girl. He had a dream of being a neurosurgeon.

‘Benny, I love your dreams – it is good to dream.’ I told him after he explained to me how he would start to work, get money and build his own hospital from scratch. I swear, he dreamed good dreams for America, for us, for the world.

‘What of you, do you have any dreams?’ Benny asked.

‘Huh, dreams? …um, dreams? I used to have.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Dreaming is good but I have lost my power of dreaming.’ I shrugged.

‘How?’ he frowned.

‘I lost it here. It flew away from me the day that I was told that I may not face trial soon. I lost it when I had been taken to Room 7 three times.’

‘Room 7? O my gosh!’ He exclaimed, ‘Well, you ain’t bad at all, considering.’

‘I guess, someday I will dream again.’

‘You’ve lost hope in yourself right?’

‘Hope exists only outside these bricks for me.’

‘I believe I will be out soon. I trust my country; they have the best legal system in the world!’ He smiled.

‘Yes – I think you’ll get justice soon.’ I said, trying not to make him give up on the hope he had built for himself. I wish he had seen how the world worked.

Everything about him changed after his first visit to Room 7. Instead of the normal 48 hours that was required for juveniles to stay in solitary confinement, he stayed for weeks. When he came out he was not Benny. While still my cellie, he was often taken out by warders and, on his return, he would have bruises all over. He gave up on the hope he had nurtured, carried and pampered previously. He started talking about dead people, eternal peace, joy and life-after-death. He saw himself going to heaven with the angels at the gate smiling and welcoming him warmly by embracing and kissing him.

‘”Welcome Benny, to your heavenly home.” The angel that looked like Gabriel told me’, Benny said.

‘Are you feeling alright?’ I asked in amazement.

‘And God told me: “Son, come to my side, you who have laboured amazingly.’” He said and smiled. Turning to me he asked: ‘Does the world really need convicts like us?’

‘I dunno,’ I answered sincerely. I am not even sure what the world needs? What will the world ever need from common prisoners? I wondered.

He committed suicide the second time he was taken to Room 7 for breaking the prison rules and regulations. He had been seen shouting at a warder.

Room 7 is few blocks away from my cell. One can see whoever is coming and going from there. The room is a tower-like structure and had seven openings at the roof and seven doors that lead to other chambers within the tower. It is located six cells away from the normal cells, which is the reason it is called Room 7. It is the darkest of the cells, save the light that escapes through the opening at the roof. One can only stand or squat. The cell is not for your comfort, it is for theirs – the government.

That mournful morning, just like I saw in my dream, a body covered in white sheet laid on a stretcher was taken out of the cell and I knew at once who the body belonged to. I could not cry, I was speechless. I imagined myself being the corpse – I saw the eternal peace and for a moment I wanted it for myself, too. Perhaps, Benny was right, and the angels would be there to welcome me.

‘Hold on bro, I will be there soon.’ I said quietly, and tears rolled down my devastated and joyless face. They ran quickly down my cheeks and then to my chin as if they were afraid of my goddamned face! I mourned him, not for any other reason, but for the dreams he died with. He was young; he was few months away from his nineteenth birthday. I was angry at myself for not saving him, for not being there. I thought I had failed my generation. I knew the hell he had passed through! I understood the psychological state he was in that had led him to end his misery.

***

Tell us: If you could give advice to prisoners what would you say?