My Cell

May 6, 2011
By , webster city, IA
My name is Bailey and I am a convict. A jail cell has been my home for over 159 days. You should see this place. It has this miniature bed (though it is not very comfy), a miniature toilet, and this modest window that has bars on it. A while ago, I noticed that three out of the four bars covering the window were loose. Outside of the window was freedom and vengeance.
I wanted to get my daughter back as soon as I broke out of this dreadful place. We would go far together. Some where no one would find us. I sat on my bed making a list of what I needed to do to break out of here. My list consisted of making my arms tougher, not eating as much (so I could stay small to fit through the bars), and not getting in any trouble. Finally, 1:30 p.m. had come; I went out and worked my arms. Jason, the strongest guy, asked me, “What are you doing?” I told him that I was going to try and escape to be with my daughter.

Jason offered to help me pull the bars off the windows, but for him to help he wanted me to let him come with. We both decided to pick a hot, sunny Sunday. That was a day the sheriffs would want to stay in the office where it was cool. Jason and I every day for the next 4 weeks worked hard on our arms.

The bright Sunday came around and that was my 187th Day that I had been in here. We intended on pulling the bars off at about 6:15 p.m., after they had supper and did room checks. I was really nervous about the whole thing. I thought, maybe I should back out and not go through with it. I knew Jason would get mad at me. I had to do it.

The time hit 6:13 p.m. and we were sitting in my cell to make sure the sheriffs wouldn’t come back to check up. We moved slowly and fearfully towards the black, cold bars. We both took a big wrathful grasp and counted down from three. Three… Two… One… POW! We did it! I didn’t think it would actually work, but I did! All we had left was two bars. We grasped the cold bars and pulled both of them off. For a minute we thought we heard a sheriffs footsteps coming, but it was nothing. Maybe it was nerves.

The climb down the side of building was daunting, but we managed to get out and run. We had this constant pace going until we heard the earsplitting bark of a ferocious sounding German Shepard. As we turned we glimpsed the flashing lights go round and round. We turned and dashed faster than we ever had to. As the wind started to pick up, it pushed against us and made are sprint go slower, but we got away.

We finally made it into town with the dogs still following behind us in a far distance. There was this whopping, green dumpster that had nothing in it but a large, smelly garbage bag. It smelled like rotting fish, mixed with filthy gym socks. Before I flew into the dumpster, Jason decided he didn’t want to get in it. He decided to leave me and go the opposite way because he wanted to get further away from the cops and horrid German Shepard. I hoped hiding in the dumpster with the stench would lead the dogs off track. In the dumpster I found a rusty, archaic knife. I kept it even though it wouldn’t help me. Then I heard something, I thought at first it was a cop. I got the knife ready to throw at the cop. As the lid opened, I swung the knife. I couldn’t believe what just happened. The knife cut the throat of an innocent old man. He had a long, gray beard that you could see the red liquid seeping through. It made me want to cry. I thought to myself, what I have I done. I felt so bad.

I got out of the dumpster and paced slowly to the middle of the street, looking down. I heard the sound of the barking dogs fade away. Then BANG I heard a rifle fire. Right then and there I knew Jason was caught and shot.

I started for the house my daughter used to live in, hoping I would find her. Hoping she would still be living there. The house was enormous, yellow with a green door. It was in the middle of the block, couldn’t be too hard to find. It took me long enough, but I finally found it.

I ran up the steps of the house to meet the green door. The knob was waiting for me to turn it and open. I heard the squeaking hinges of the door while the door slowly swung open. My left foot took the lead, as I stepped in the door I heard someone say, “Put your hands up!” I knew it was a cop standing right behind me. It was too late to run and get away. I put my head down in shame.

As I was sitting in my same old cell on my bed I figured that I would be in here for a longtime. Now, I think I will never have the perfect chance to see my little girls face again.

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Healing_Angel This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
May 27, 2011 at 3:13 am
Great description! Great flow too! This is really good! Keep writing! :)
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