MDC

This is a part of a story I am working on. For some reason I am not writing it in the order it will eventually fall.. but here is what I have thus far.

 

Never have I felt such animosity towards four walls and myself. I lay in this bed, looking up at the ceiling. On it, the words“I love Christopher” were scribbled, over and over again, followed by “This sucks” and “50 days to go!”; Dialog from the miserable souls that inhabited this bed before me. The room, which was no bigger than a small dressing room, consisted of a bunk bed, a cot on the floor, a desk in the corner, a combo toilet/sink unit in the other corner, and was kept at an uncomfortable 58 degrees at all times. Quite unpleasant, close quarters for three people, but I am sure that is how it is meant to be.

 

One of my cell mates, Candice, was a twenty-two year old crack addict that was one month pregnant with her third child. She had served five days of her ten day sentence for prostitution. (She swore up and down that it was a set up, but then again, isn't it always?) Upon the first ten minutes of meeting her, she pulled a crack pipe, lighter and rock from her c**t and began to smoke it. Not exactly the smartest move for at least two reasons that roll off the top of my head.

My other cell mate, Katrina, was a twenty four year old Indian woman who was in for various warrants and domestic violence. I was glad to be assigned to a room with her because she was someone I had connected with in booking. Despite her charges, she struck me as one of the few genuine people in that particular intake pod.

These were the two people I would spend the next 26 hours with.

 

My first night was pretty rough. It seemed as though every fifteen minutes one of my two cell mates would get up and use the bathroom. The sound of the toilet flushing was very unsettling. It omitted this growling, groaning sound that shook you to your very core; the monster of MDC, lurking beneath the concrete, feeding on sin and ruined lives. No matter how far away a cell was, I could always hear the roar.

 

Later that night, Candice awoke me by sticking her fingers vigorously up my c**t, searching for any drugs I may have smuggled in. I squirmed and she put her hand over my mouth and said, “Keep quiet b***h, I'm lookin'!” Upon finding nothing she said, “Damn Upstairs, you 'aint got nothin'.”(She called me Upstairs because she couldn't remember my name... and I was on the top bunk).

It is safe to say that was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.

 

The next morning, at 3:30 am to be exact, we were served breakfast. Cold cream of wheat, cornbread and milk. I did not eat that morning.