The floor was cold concrete and stained from years of excrement. It was in the evening, but one could tell that without looking at the clock on the wall. The walls always seemed closer than they were, maybe a trick of the place or simply the deteriorating of an aged mind. The place was silent as death itself, not even a breeze from a fan or an air conditioner for the comfort of the prisoners. The other prisoners, trapped behind iron bars, starred out solemnly with broken souls and minds. No prisoner looked the same physically, except for their skin which was all different shades of black, but they all radiated the hopelessness of prisoners who knew that the guards could take them any day, and then they would never be seen again. I looked at my empty bowl, which had contained the slop of meat and hooves that the guards and cooks dared called food. It was sometimes rancid and old, but I never really minded. I ate what they gave me, drank what I could get and minded my own business when I could. I had been in the cell for so long I knew it as well as my own arms. No, more, I didn’t even know my own arms that well. The stench of faeces, blood and urine coated the entire prison. No toilets were in the cells, no place to relieve one’s self except onto the floor. The blood was a day old, when a prisoner had gotten confident and shaped up to a guard. The guard had kicked him till he bled, most probably breaking several of his ribs in the process. That prisoner was now probably contemplating how his life had come to this. Well, that was exactly what I had been doing.
I had been in this hell for a while, but before this I had had a life of my own, a home, friends and three delicious meals a day. But that perfect life had been shattered the day when I had been attacked. I had been on the street, minding my own business and lapping up the sun’s magnificent heat and the air’s natural aromas. I could no longer remember those feelings. Then I had come across a white man who, without provocation, had begun throwing stones at me. One had struck my eye and blood and tears had streamed down. The man laughed like the hyena he was and fled. But he hadn’t been fast enough. Even with my injuries I easily caught him further down the street and tackled him to the ground. I was on top and my arms flailed, my nails leaving deep gorges in the man’s chest and neck. And then the authorities had shown up. I had been restrained unconscious and dumped in the cell. There had been no trial or allowance of my point of view. And that was because the white man I had attacked had been of higher class, he was somehow better than me and his opinions and thoughts counted more than mine. Life was unfair, but this was worse. My life was treated worse than his, he could attack me and leave me permanently injured but because he was somehow superior everyone had turned the other cheek and had let him go and imprisoned me. I knew that my time was coming to an end. I could feel it in the way that the guards stared at me as they gave me my food, the way that the food someone tasted better when it looked the same. They would take me away quietly and put me in internal sleep. My grave would probably go unmarked, and even if it wasn't who would visit? My previous life had abandoned me. I knew that I was old, but I also knew I still had years to go. Would these guards rob me of my right to live?
Suddenly a large guard strolled down the line of cells, a brilliant little sun in his hands flashing between the bars of our prison. The prisoners began their usual screaming, clawing and banging of the prison bars. The noise was nearly impenetrable, a shield of pure noise and chaos. The guard ignored the noise, walking along with an expression of seriousness and control. It even looked like the Grim Reaper himself was hiding in the shadows behind his light, watching me with eyes of eternal darkness and despair. I quickly crawled to the corner of the cell and closed my eyes, but then the guard was opening my cell and pulling me out by my coat. His grip was like iron and I knew that I could not break it. He half carried me towards the door and even when I knew that my time was up, I was silent. It wasn't until the door closed that I released a vicious bark and bared my canines, but by then the vets were already preparing to put me down.