There’s no-one to meet me as the gates crash closed behind me.
I’m used to being ignored, to being alone. I mean, of the twenty seven years I’ve spent in that hell-hole, most were in solitary. Locked up, secured. Not as punishment but for protection. Not mine, but theirs. Even the toughest screws and cons blanched when they saw me approach.
They called me dangerous, schizophrenic, psychopathic. My charge sheet reads rapist, serial killer, child molester. Lock up for life. To die in prison.
The gates close behind me. I am free. Admin fuck up. I don’t complain.