insidestories A supplement of Short Stories written by prisoners sponsored by Waterside Press. Inside Time May 2012

overstepped the mark, as the story will show. But as Ruth lay on the beach, coughing and crying and vomiting, I fell in love. Surprised? I am intolerant of intolerance and love love. I am very human. I am even subject to doubt! Ruth’s initial reaction was fear. Fear of me, fear of the brutal men she was escaping, fear of the brutality of life. I held her tightly by the wrist and delivered her to the villa of a man I trust. Had I not have done so she would either have been dead or re-brutalised within the day and the beautiful person she could have been would not have had the chance to walk along the beach and feel the sand between her toes in years to come. I was prepared to intervene to that extent. With hope.

Ruth’s Story By Mike Taylor - HMP Maidstone

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Y

ou will have heard of me one way or another. I am so multifaceted that you have probably heard of me from several different angles. Some will take a life, claiming that you were made in my image. Others will take a life claiming that I am made in your image. Both are right, but both are so very wrong. I am who I am; that’s about as close as it gets. I have been hounded out of town, spat on, stoned, hanged and so misunderstood as to be the cause of many a bloody, stench-filled disagreement. Indeed, you are likely to have met me at some time or other. I live with you in so many different ways, throughout the world, throughout time! Some might like to argue that you would be better off without me, but then, you do only have a partial view of the situation. Had I have acceded to this then the knowledge you possess about yourself would never have come into your possession and the universe, me included, would be a lesser place without that. Anyway we are where we are and now we are acquainted I’d like to tell you a story. It’s not long, so I won’t hold you up. The story is about Ruth. You won’t know Ruth. Until now I’ve kept her story hidden about my person. She had a bit of a tough life. Like many, her parentage was extremely pain-filled. Her mother was brutalised by a man she loved. Her father showed up for the first major event in her life but after that, well. The brutal man sold Ruth’s mother, day in day out, for the pleasure of other brutal men, but she had some respite whilst awaiting Ruth’s arrival. The first 6 years of Ruth’s life were charming. She was a delightful child, bright in her way with an intense vibrancy that was given to her by way of compensation as it were. She was well loved by her mother who, herself, was

being driven beyond her years by the brutal man, who just happened to be Ruth’s grandfather. Yes, you can see where this story is likely to go, which is bitter in itself! Indeed, I hardly need to go any further with Ruth’s tale and I’ll spare you the details of the next 20 or so years of her sorrowful life. I will pick the story up on the day that I met Ruth. I was strolling along the seashore on an uncommonly beautiful night. The moon hung low against the gently lapping sea, with a flock of night birds ranging back and forth and the sand still warm between my toes after being baked all day in the sun. It was one of those nights especially put together for lovemaking. It was not a night for a swim fully clothed and with an opiate coursing through your body, but there she was, strolling hard out to sea. The water was already up to her waist but still she ploughed on with determination. I knew I only had a short time in which to intervene before a true calamity occurred and so I had to take desperate measures. I waded towards her in the gentle swell and called her name. It got her attention but she looked back in abject horror. She was understandably confused and rather than stopping she pushed forward with increased determination, looking over her shoulder as I followed her into the deep waters. I suppose she wanted to end it all under her own terms, the first real act of defiance in 20 years and she threw herself forward in the vain hope that I would not take further action. She was the proverbial half-drowned rat. Had she been fully drowned I’m not sure what I would have done. Despite perceived wisdom I hate that heady, coercive intrusion that many suggest I ought to adopt in order to appease certain sensibilities. In its time and in its place, yes. But I doubt this would have been either the time or the place. As it was I had already

At length I sent Ruth a message that I wished to talk to her. She came and stood, demure in her blue linen dress and shoulder-length walnut coloured hair. She seemed hesitant to come too close so I indicated a place for her to sit. ‘You wish to see me, sir?’ ‘Yes. How are you finding it here?’ ‘I…I like it very much, sir.’ ‘Good. And I notice you have found a friend?’ ‘Yes, sir. Helen is very good to me…’ Ruth paused and I waited. ‘In fact, sir, she…I…I was hoping to join her at the river festival.’ As she sat before me I searched her soul. Ruth was struggling, caught between wanting to please her first ever friend and facing the world. The fear of brutality was lying just beneath the surface of the masses who would attend the festival. I knew I could keep her safe from the masses; my fear was that I could not keep her safe from her own fears. Should I have taken a more interventionist stance? As they made their way through the swarming masses in the town I kept my half of the bargain and posted security, discrete around her. But as they went, Ruth looked; she looked into the eyes and saw beneath the surface the savagery, the pitiless. She saw the mindless madness latent within all that picks away at hope. Her friend was gaily talking about the finery but Ruth stopped hearing. All she could hear was the crying of the hearts of the children, the tormented, and the dispossessed. So she looked down at the feet and the hooves, at the hard stone, at the sedge growing along the riverbank, at the gently lapping water’s edge. The water held her vision, the deep tranquillity, it mesmerised her fear – quietly, without fuss, the blackness within the water rose to meet with her while the goddess in the barge sailed past. Men standing close by immediately dived into the water. They dived down and came up for air before diving again. After a very long time, as the river festivities progressed past, Ruth’s body was hauled onto the bank. Ruth was laid in a grave on the hillside and was marked as permanently as possible – but the city grew, the hill was built over several times. Nobody currently living will, of course, even have noticed the hill, let alone the forgotten grave of a forgotten girl. But Ruth, of course, is still with you even as I am with you. The hard thing is that there is one of me and many, many Ruth’s. We both come in many forms and disguises but all the same we do walk among you.

Vampire Children By Stephen Marsh HMP Swaleside Bernadette hid under the duvet and shivered, regardless of the sweat on her body. The sound of fingernails scraping the windowsill made her freeze with fear. She knew it was the vampire that her friends were talking about. She wished she’d never watched that documentary ‘Twilight’. Bernadette finally cried herself to sleep. When she awoke she crawled over to the window to check the paintwork. The scratches made her scramble back to bed. When she told the kids in school about it they laughed and called her a baby. Bernadette looked at them and shouted that they were all wrong and that it was true and then with a final scream she yelled; ‘I’m the teacher and you will believe me!’

Sleeping Beauty By Ginge - HMP Glen Parva I need her, I must keep her. Nobody must have her. I do this not to hurt her but to protect her. She is my sleeping beauty I saw how he looked at her, as if to give the impression he was her Prince Charming, as if his kiss could rescue her but he just wants to take her from me. She needs me. I am her father, and she is my sleeping beauty She is so peaceful, so still, a thing of absolute beauty. This is why I must keep her, she must not be exposed to the cruel way of men. She is too pure, too innocent. She is my sleeping beauty. If only she knew my reasons why, I know she would understand. He is not right for her. He only wants to take her away but no one can have her. She is my sleeping beauty.

The Little Book Of Prison A Beginners Guide Frankie Owens An easy-toread survival guide of Dos and Don’ts Koestler Award Winner

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A Taste of Freedom By Leon Zylicz - HMP Moorland (formerly HMP Armley)

M

y name is Marlowe and I am a ship’s navigator. Now, I am going to tell you a story about something that happened 3 years ago. At that time I was serving on board the M/V Ocean Venture. The ship had delivered blocks of granite from India to Italy. The blocks were used for house building and sculpting. I was trapped in that relentless circulation between the Indian and Italian shores for over a year. It was shortly before midnight that the Ocean Venture left the Candla Harbour, the pilot, a turbaned Hindu, was still on board. He was standing on the starboard wing in the company of the captain, a tall, broad-shouldered man. They were searching for the Tuna Buoy, the point at which the pilot had to disembark. I was keeping my watch inside the wheelhouse, waiting for captain’s orders. At midnight the second mate was to take over from me. It was already 20 past and he was still not on the bridge. When the ship finally reached the Tuna Buoy, flashing its white light every 10 seconds, the captain cut the engines and the pilot left the ship. His small boat disappeared into the deep Indian darkness. After that I heard the captain shout from the wing – ‘Full ahead’. He repeated his command, pressed the telegraph handle and the Ocean Venture resumed her sea voyage to Marina Di Carrara. A few minutes later the captain burst into the wheelhouse, having spotted me at the radar screen. He demanded in a loud voice – ‘Where’s the second officer?’ I shook my head – ‘I don’t know’ I replied. The captain started walking the bridge hastily, as if he wanted to hammer his anger home. I looked at the illuminated face of my wristwatch; it was 20 minutes to 1am. The captain continued marching the bridge with rising determination. At last, the sound of footsteps on the stairs and the second officer arrived. In the pale greenish light of the radar screen I

could see the angry face of the captain. The second officer crossed the wheelhouse, holding a cup of coffee in his hand. He placed the cup on top of the binocular box near the window. ‘Second, what’s the next course?’ The captain demanded. The second officer shrugged. ‘You should know that, captain, you are still in charge. I’m not ready for a watch yet, I have to finish my coffee first.’ The second officer barked angrily at the captain. I froze, like a rabbit caught in headlights. In my 5 years at sea I had never come across such a case of insubordination on ship. ‘Listen to me, second. Either you tell me the course at once or I’ll disembark you at the next port of call!’ The captain shouted. ‘Ok, ok, captain,’ the second officer replied. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll tell you that.’ He then disappeared into the chartroom. I exhaled slowly and with relief now that the confrontation between the two officers was over, but it did not bode well for the next 10 days at sea. I looked through the window and watched small coastal vessels that were passing quietly, rings of white light around their masts. They were going back to the Harbour at Candla, like Hindu souls returning to Brahman. The next few days passed without any unusual events, the sea and clouds turning and staying a monotonous grey. The sea and sky seemed to merge together so perfectly that they ceased to exist as separate entities. The Ocean Venture was rolling between the west of India and the east of Africa, rhythmically pushed by the south-east swells, alone in mid-ocean. On the morning of the 4th day I went to the bridge to examine the life jackets, flares and other rescue equipment, for which I was responsible as the third officer. I spotted the second officer sitting on the narrow wooden railing of the port side wing, which was rolling dangerously 10 yards above sea level. I approached him immediately and asked him to stay on the deck and look out for ships. ‘Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing,’ he replied. ‘No ship will come into sight during my watch.’ I shook my head. ‘You must stick to the ship’s routine.’ I told him. ‘I hate routine!’ He shouted. ‘It’s great for such a dull person as you, but it kills me.’ I waved my hand. ‘But now you are rolling like a baby in a cradle!’ I pointed out. He immediately jumped from the railing to the deck. ‘I am not a baby!’ He shouted, full of rage and pointing his index finger at my chest. ‘You are a bastard, just like the others.’ He growled. ‘To hell with you!’ I stepped back. ‘Calm down, seccy,’ I said. ‘Take care of yourself and the safe navigation of the ship.’ I turned and went into the bridge to complete my duties. After 10 days the Ocean Venture landed at the port of Marina Di Carrara. The second officer must have reconciled himself with the hated ship’s routine, as no further incidents with him occurred. The ship was quickly moored and 20,000 tonnes of granite blocks started to be discharged. The main deck and all holds were overrun by gangs of Italian port workers, many of whom came to work by

The Historical Truth By Leon Zylicz - HMP Armley

bicycles and motor bike which they parked near the huge port stores. They worked fast using the ship’s derricks and port cranes to discharge the cargo. After 3 days all the holds had been nearly emptied. At the port I had to keep a 12 hour watch, starting from noon. The second officer was due to take over from me at midnight, as usual, but, again, he did not arrive on time. One seaman who was returning from shore leave told me that the seccy was having a good time at a bar in the town. At 1am there was a break in the unloading, the ship’s derricks stopped working and all the port workers left the main deck. A deep silence settled over the ship, even the splashing of port waters stirred by passing tug boats seemed far away. I went to the mess room for a cup of tea. When I took a seat at the table I suddenly heard the roar of a derrick motor. I jumped up and looked through the porthole; a motorbike hanging on to the derricks hook was swinging to and fro. I rushed on deck and could see that someone was in the derrick’s glazed cabin. I came forward and recognised the second officer. He tried to put the Yamaha onto the ship’s deck but he was struggling to do so. Against the dark blue sky the silver Yamaha shone like a diamond on a bed of velvet. I reached the crane and started climbing the ladder leading to the cabin. As I reached the platform the second officer opened the cabin door and angrily tried to push me away. I jumped back, shouting – ‘Second, stop this crane and come down at once!’ He glared at me. ‘Sod off, third, I am not the second officer, I am the captain!’ Trying to calm him down I said – ‘Ok, captain, may I join your ship?’ The seccy frowned. ‘Only if you obey my rules.’ He said. ‘No problem, captain.’ I replied. He nodded. ‘Now, go down and open the hold, where I keep my motorbike.’ I saluted. ‘Ahoy, captain.’ I said. I went down the ladder towards the hold but instead I went to wake up the Chief Mate, and reported the whole incident to him. The Chief cut the power to the derricks and sent two seamen up to escort the seccy down. Silence once again settled on the ship. The next morning I was standing on the quay, near the gangway and checking the port net beneath when I heard the door to the crew accommodation slam and the second officer appeared on the stairs. He was carrying a suitcase in his hand. Then I realised the captain had dismissed him and he was leaving the ship for good. As he passed the gangway I asked him – ‘Why did you try to pick up that motorbike with the crane?’ He stopped and thought about it for a second. Then he smiled, wearily. ‘Sometimes I need the freedom to do whatever I feel.’ He replied. ‘Was it worth it?’ I asked him. For the first time he pierced me with green, cat-like eyes and said, pitifully. ‘You are a hopelessly dull person, my friend, and you will be until the day you die’. Then he turned and walked off the ship without another word.

Thermopile is the well-known place where the battle between 300 warriors of Sparta and thousands of Persian soldiers had taken place. Is this battle really that well-known? I doubt it. My doubts have risen much more since I saw the American film ‘300’. Artistically and aesthetically this film is beyond reproach. The impressive pictures, the greyish-blue tone, the whole atmosphere of fatal and tragic events were really able to evoke the ancient times and transfer us to the narrow tranche of Thermopile. Nevertheless, several film scenes were simply invented by the scripter or even by the film’s director in order to attract more cinema-goers and to balance some deficit of the film producer’s budget. I know, I know. You are expecting from me some examples to justify that seemingly arrogant allegation and I give you a good one. Let us consider the case of Monides, a crippled man, who had asked the king of Sparta, Leonidas, to allow him to fight against the Persian army. As you may remember, Leonidas rejected his offer. In return Monides abandoned Sparta’s warriors and joined the Persian troops. This is entirely contradictory to the Sparta spirits and customs, so perfectly illustrated in the film. If Monides had been born a cripple – trust me – he would have surely been pushed away from the top of the highest mountain into the deepest abyss as Spartan society did not tolerate cripples at all. In the film there were many such controversial scenes. However, you might argue that I was not an eye-witness to the battle of Thermopile and therefore I am not fully authorised to claim to know the historical truth about the event. Aright. I expected such reproach, and in advance I prepared myself to adequately respond to this charge. In my cellar I keep a vehicle of time, which I have constructed myself, inspired by HG Wells’s short story. Last year, two days after watching the above mentioned film, I descended into my cellar, entered my time machine and after a few minutes I landed in the Thermopile field. What I saw was almost beyond belief. The 300 Spartan warriors were jumping and dancing in victory – they had beaten the whole Persian army. I quickly took some pictures of the scene and then jumped back into my time machine. Having returned to the 21st century I ran to the Institute of Ancient History in London and revealed the historical truth about the battle of Thermopile. I showed the pictures to the gathered Historical Council to support my revelation. However, nobody believed me. Needless to say that being armed with such hard evidence as photos I felt like Gulliver amongst the Lilliputians in front of these sceptical scientists. Nevertheless I could not find the strong words to convince these doubting historians. Finally, after I had argued myself out, one of the historians, a man with a white beard, came up to me. ‘Show me the pictures once again.’ He demands. ‘Here you are.’ I say, and put my historical truth in front of him. He laughed – ‘Idiot!’ He cried. ‘All of these pictures are stills from the Spielberg film!’

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Love of a Mother By Stephen Marsh - HMP Swaleside

L

ouise put the phone down and called for her husband. ‘Richard! He’s on his way home!’ It had been a long nine months since her 19 year-old son, Bradley, had gone off to Afghanistan. He had only been in the British army for 16 months and it didn’t seem right to Louise that a boy of his age, with so little life experience, could be sent to one of the most dangerous places in the world. Ever since Bradley had been away, Louise had begun her day at the local church, praying for his safe return. She had no concerns for the actual war that was raging, just that her son be returned to her safely. She had been going to church since she was 4 years-old and, although she rarely missed a Sunday, this situation had increased her visits to an obsessive degree. ‘What did they say?’ ‘They said that his entire regiment was on its way home from the war and they wouldn’t be going back before Christmas!’ ‘This is wonderful, love. Maybe now you can stop all this fretting.’ Louise looked at Richard as if he were a stranger. She couldn’t understand how he could have been so calm all these months while his son was going through hell. This situation made her look at her own life in a new way, especially her marriage. ‘He should be home in a few days, Father, and I have God to thank for it.’ ‘We have God to thank for everything, Mrs Bracken, but I will be saying a special prayer of thanks this evening for Bradley and for you and your husband too.’ ‘I need to talk to you about that, Father. What’s the view on divorce in the church these days? When I was growing up across the water even using the word was frowned upon.’ ‘I don’t think this is the right time to be discussing such emotional matters, Mrs Bracken. I think we should get your son home and allow things to get back to normal. Don’t you?’ ‘I’ve been unhappy for a long time and this has just made things more clear in my mind. I just wanted to wait until my son came home safely.’ ‘Come and see me when he is home and perhaps bring your husband with you for a

chat too.’ Louise left the church knowing that she didn’t need to bring Richard with her for a chat, she just needed to have Bradley at home and then she would be strong enough to leave the man who had been in her life for 26 years. ‘Mum, can you hear me? I’m home! I’m in London.’ ‘Is that you, Bradley? The line is terrible. Did you say you were in London or Lisbon?’ ‘The UK’ ‘That’s brilliant, love. Do you want us to come and get you?’ ‘No thanks. I’m with a mate and we are going to get a beer then we can get a train later.’ ‘Ok, love. Don’t be long; I can’t wait to see you.’ ‘Would it be ok if I bring my mate home too, mum?’ ‘Of course, love. I’ve got loads of food in. Chocolate éclairs for you!’ ‘Could he stay a while? He has a pretty bad injury. Is that ok?’ ‘Of course it is. Any friend of yours, etc etc.’ ‘He has lost an arm and a leg, mum. Is it still ok?’ ‘He’s a hero, love, just like you. He’s more than welcome.’ ‘I mean can he come and stay with us, mum? He really has nowhere to go and I want him to live with us.’ Louise had a million thoughts going through her mind. She was thinking of hugging her only child, she was thinking of a new life without her husband but she had not been thinking about opening up her home to a disabled soldier. ‘You are more than welcome to bring him home for a few days, love, and while he’s here I will make sure that we contact the people who can help him. They will make sure that he is looked after properly.’ ‘Mum, I don’t think he’d like that.’ ‘Look Bradley, I really am sorry for him but I’m afraid he would just be in the way here, and he would end up being a burden to us all, and I don’t think he would want that, would he? I’m sure he would get used to a home.’ ‘Ok, mum. I hope you don’t mind me asking. Bye.’ ‘Bradley? Bradley? The line has gone funny again. Are you there? Are you gone?’

‘Was he ok, Louise?’ ‘Yes, yes, he was fine. He said he was going for a few beers with a mate and then he would be home. It was a terrible line so I think he’s coming tonight but you know how he can be when he gets a few drinks in him! We may not see him until tomorrow, but he deserves a good time.’ The next few hours were spent watching the window and looking up at every single car that came near the house. There was no sign and as the clock ticked towards midnight Richard went up to bed and Louise waited her usual hour before following up after he had fallen asleep. ‘That’s the phone, Richard, what time is it?’ ‘It’s three in the morning. I bet that’s Bradley, up to his old tricks already. Tell him I’m not picking up at this hour!’ ‘Hello? Bradley?’ Richard could hear the tone of his wife’s voice and it shook him awake. ‘Distinguishing features? Yes, he has a tattoo of MUM on his right shoulder and a scar on his left knee where he fell off his bike when he was six.’ ‘What is it, Louise? Who is it?’ ‘The police.’ ‘Why?’ ‘We’ll be straight there, officer. Thank you for calling.’ On the drive on the way over very little was said between the two of them. As Richard drove all that Louise could think of was that there had been some terrible mistake and she even hoped that it was the friend that Bradley had mentioned that the police had called about. She had never wished harm on another person in her life, but this was different. They met the police officer that had made the phone call at the entrance to Charing Cross hospital. It had been a long drive from Cheltenham but they had made it in less than two hours. ‘Thank you for coming Mr and Mrs Bracken. This must be very difficult for you.’ They were taken into a room, where a body was laying across a small, thin table. The sheet was pulled tight up to his neck but it was quite clear that it was Bradley. When they left that claustrophobic room Louise collapsed in a heap on a red plastic chair and Richard was called to a room with the same policeman. ‘I didn’t want to mention this on the phone, sir, but we have reason to believe this wasn’t an accident. We think he took his own life by jumping from the roof of a multi-storey car park.’ ‘Oh no. This will destroy my wife.’ ‘When I talked to your wife on the phone I was a bit surprised to be honest, Mr Bracken.’ ‘Why was that?’ ‘We were not really sure that it was your son, sir, even with the identification we found in his wallet.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘Well, when we asked your wife for any distinguishing features she only mentioned the tattoo and the small scar on his knee.’ ‘So?’ ‘Well, it surprised me that she didn’t mention he only had one arm and one leg.’

Fish or Fiction? By Stephen Marsh HMP Swaleside

H £15 prize H

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As Harold packed away his fishing gear, after another disappointing 8 hours of nothing happening, he saw a ripple in the moonlit sea that caught his attention. The shimmering body of a mermaid slithered on to his boat and kissed him more passionately than he had ever been kissed before. She spoke no words but her eyes matched his yearning as they made love. The waves lapping his boat and the smell of fish strong in his nostrils. As he told the story to his friends in the pub he was laughed at as a sad lonely old man but Harold knew the truth. To this day he still can’t eat a packet of Scampi Fries without remembering his own personal mermaid.

The Invisibles By TB - HMP Isis Once upon a time in a city called London there was a small place called Longate. There lived a family who was not very well known to the community because they were new to Longate. They never came out of their house and even if they did, it was as if no one ever saw them. It was like they were invisible, and this made the family very angry. It didn’t feel fair for everyone to act as if they weren’t there. One night they decided to kill everyone in Longate. All those who acted as if they were invisible. They left their house and went out into Longate. They killed everyone and then dragged the bodies into the dark woods. In the woods they turned everyone into werewolves, just like they were. Now all the people they’d killed would live again, and nobody would feel left out ever again.

Behind the Lines By Michael Crowley

Creative Writing with Offenders and Those at Risk Contains dozens of exercises

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The trials & tribulations of El Presidente By Mcnutty - HMP Glenochil more news and exclusive interviews. Winter turned to spring and media interest surrounding the event intensified, as details of dates and venues were leaked, confirmed and officially announced. ‘Freedom’ by QFX was playing as Alex ‘El Presidente’ Salmond made his way to the cage entrance amongst the flashing lights and dry ice. Silence fell over the arena before the theme from Braveheart by Princess Paragon began and Sean ‘Milkman’ Connery entered the arena bare chested, shoeless and wearing fingerless gloves. The crowd whooped and cheered as the contenders got last minute instructions from their coaches and greased up their eyebrows with Vaseline. ‘El Presidente, ready, Milkman, ready?’ Asked the referee as the contenders entered the cage. The men gave the thumbs up. The ring girls walked around the cage holding large number 1 signs before exiting and the door was locked.

A

s the clock ticked down, polling stations closed at midnight and the votes were being counted. The rebirth of a nation was happening. Bute House was full of anxious supporters waiting on the official announcement. The exit polls all pointed in the right direction, the people had spoken and their choice was independence. Change was around the corner, St Andrews Day 2014 would go down in history. It would become known as the day that Scots claimed their freedom from the union. The news reverberated around the globe. Ex pats declared their intention to return home. Alan Cumming, Sheena Easton, Rod Stewart and Billy Connolly all spoke of an end to being slaves of the empire on the American news networks. Sean Connery took to twitter and immediately announced his intention to replace Idi Amin as the next King of Scotland from his Caribbean home. ‘#the throne will be mine.’ Read his tweet. Alex Salmond delivered his first television address as ‘El Presidente’. ‘Our nation has decided and we are all united in that decision, we are no longer subjects of the house of Windsor but a proud nation, with an equally proud heritage. Now we can reclaim our rightful place on the world’s stage. A famous man once said ‘I have a dream’. Well, I also have a dream and it came true tonight right here in bonnie Scotland. I would like to clarify the situation regarding the appointment of a king. You may have heard exaggerated reports of Sean Connery’s appointment as king but that position is rightly mine. I fully intend to fill that role, once freedom has been obtained from our former slave masters. With Scotland’s dissolution

from the United Kingdom complete, the first task of the ruling party was to form a government and decide how the massive oil revenues would be spent. The rumours about the man who would be king wouldn’t die. New names in the frame appeared in the media daily, the latest candidate being Walter Smith. The months passed by and as autumn turned to winter, the government settled down to business, the economy flourished and as ex pats returned home the population boomed. Scotland was back amongst the most powerful nations in the G8. The matter of the man who would be king had become a joke around the world. In his winter address to the nation Alex Salmond threw down the gauntlet to Sean Connery. ‘Cum an hiv a go if yea think yur hard enuff!’ Once again news networks and social media sites were a flutter. The answer came via the Braveheart Broadcasting Company in a world exclusive interview with Sean Connery. TV Int: ‘Welcome Sean.’ Sean: ‘Hullo.’ TV Int: ‘Do you hold any ambitions to be king?’ Sean: ‘Despite my long standing friendship with Alex Salmond. I accept his challenge. Debates or referendums cannot settle this. I propose a sporting contest consisting of a cage fight, wrestling and an old fashioned joust.’ Silence fell around the studio as the interviewer introduced Alex Salmond on the phone. TV Int: ‘Welcome to the studio Alex. Do you accept Sean’s challenge?’ Alex: ‘Um…ahh. I accept the challenge, name the time and place.’ TV Int: ‘Well folks, unfortunately that’s all we have time for. Thank you very much for your time Sean and Alex. Goodnight, and join us once again on BBC same time tomorrow for

El Presidente and the Milkman sized each other up for around 30 seconds while circling the cage. The Milkman made the first strike. A body blow. El Presidente found himself eating mat. Lying flat on his back. The Milkman kept the body blows coming thick and fast. El Presidente tried to stand up as the Milkman wrapped his legs around his waist. El Presidente tapped out. The contest ended with Sean Connery being declared the winner. Seven days later and the crowds filled the courtyard at Stirling Castle for round 2. The wrestling event. Alex Salmond had arrived clad in Lycra emblazoned with the Lion Rampant. The clock approached 3pm but

there was no sign of Sean Connery. Alex Salmond was declared the winner by default. As the sun rose a huge crowd gathered, spanning the length and breadth of Stirling Bridge, the jousting track the only remaining clear space. The horses had been fed and watered and well rested under the watchful eyes of an SSPCA inspector. With the equipment rigorously checked, the Health & Safety Executive gave the event the go ahead. All we were waiting on was the contenders. Helicopters whirred overhead before coming into view. The crowd moved back, allowing them to land. First off was El Presidente, once again proudly displaying the Lion Rampant on his chainmail. Followed by the Milkman clad in chainmail, lance held aloft and adorned by the Saltire. The helicopter took off, the contenders mounted their horses. El Presidente in yellow and red. Milkman in blue and white. ‘Let the battle commence.’ Announced the umpire. The crowd whooped and hollered, chanting for their favourite as El Presidente made a charge down the bridge and struck first. The Milkman seemed rattled as he struggled to grip his lance, making a quick retreat. On the return journey El Presidente gained the advantage with several body blows against which the Milkman seemed unable to defend himself. The crowd started chanting – ‘El President, El Presidente, El Presidente!’ One more circuit of the makeshift arena and El Presidente knocked the Milkman off his horse. But before the celebrations could begin the crowd looked skyward as a helicopter was heard overhead. The helicopter hovered, a door opened, someone leapt out, within seconds a rip-cord was being pulled and our mystery guest parachuted himself into the ensuing chaos. Removing the parachute and ripping off his leopard print jumpsuit, Rod Stewart had arrived on Sterling Bridge. ‘Stop, I challenge you to a duel!’ Rod screamed, throwing his Glasgow Celtic top to the ground. Another part of Alex Salmond’s soul died that day. Would he ever be able to fulfil his kismet?

The Pied Piper

Humpty Dumpty

By RB - HMP Forest Bank

By AW - HMP Chelmsford

Once upon a time in a rundown London village there was a swarm of disease ridden rats and the mayor could not seem to get rid of them. So he called in a professional exterminator from the well-talked about Pied Piper Limited. The Pied Piper came and looked at the problem and explained to the mayor that it was a hard job, and he would want paying a considerable sum of £10,000. The mayor agreed and the Pied Piper then proceeded to get rid of the rats by poisoning them and making traps. The mayor was impressed and paid the Pied Piper but the Piper received a huge tax bill and was not impressed so he complained. He got no reply so the Pied Piper decided to kidnap the mayor’s kid and hold it for ransom but he didn’t get payment, and instead got arrested and sent to Forest Bank.

Humpty Dumpty was on his way to the shops to get himself a cornetto. After purchasing his strawberry ice cream he headed to the park. Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall unwrapping his ice cream and started munching. The sun was hot and starting to burn his back. He started to play tunes on his iPhone 4. Five guys from the nearby estate walked up to Humpty Dumpty and asked him what ends he from? Humpty’s stomach churned. He knew what time it was. The five boys had their hoods up, and Humpty found them very intimidating. One of the boys told Humpty to hand over his phone. Humpty Dumpty hesitated and said it was a present. The boy said ‘Am I a dickhead?’ Humpty Dumpty jumped off the wall. The boy gave Humpty a one bang and all the police and ambulance men couldn’t put Humpy Dumpty together again.

Insidetime May 2012 www.insidetime.org

Fam

insidestories than likely knew the money situation already. Maybe what he was really asking if I’d smoked crack or not! ‘A little better than last time, I sent what’s his name to get a Chinese.’ Going for a Chinese was code for Trevor dropping off the half-way money. Oscar had phoned around the same time on my last shift. ‘Everything is as it should be’. ‘Alright. Good! Call when it’s time.’ Oscar disconnected. When I was down to my last ounce I’d phone a mobile that went straight to answer phone. Someone would get the message and another two workers would set out.

By Jason Smith - HMP Birmingham

H £25 prize H

insidestories supplement winner

T

he flickering light from the TV barely illuminated the room. A blanket covered the window, though if pulled back in the daytime, it would reveal yellowing peeling wallpaper and an ammonia smelling stained carpet. The room stank of piss, and I was sitting watching a dirty DVD. Being there was my sacrifice. I was half way through nine ounces of crack and bobs (brown). Hundreds of tightly bound balls of cling filmed shots (wraps) were in my coat. My shift would go on until I’d sold every last one. I worked with another, but I would have to account for everything. The other worker, Trevor, was collecting our order from the local Chinese take away. Trevor was young, but his beefy presence was good security. The two of us stood a good chance of fighting off the less serious robbers. The serious ones knew to stay well away, but those who didn’t know might make a serious error. The operation was simple. Catch a train, relieve a shift, and then sit in the crack house running it however I pleased. I ran it secure enough, well as secure as I could. If the place got raided I could get caught with everything. One of the smokers answered the front door to customers. Patrick’s instructions were to only open to those he knew. He was a heavy set black man in his thirties and prematurely grey. Patrick would have been robbing the customers had I not employed him for door duty. He stilled on the odd smokers to get extra shots, but I trusted him to shout ‘Police!’ if or when a raid went down. Maybe I’d have time to flush the drugs. When smokers entered the crack house I stayed in the back room. Sharon and Clive were holding shots in the main room. Sharon used to sell herself for money to buy crack. She used to be attractive, before crack got a hold. Now instead of selling herself she sat holding six shots of ‘bobs’. Every time she sold six Clive would give her a ten shot of (whites) crack. Sharon did not use heroin, I could trust her to not smoke it. The turnover was fast enough to quench her thirst. Clive was mixed race, English and Jamaican,

and in his twenties. He was over six foot, but was seriously underweight. He smoked heroin and left crack well alone. He held twelve shots of ‘whites’. Sharon would give him a ten shot of ‘bobs’ once he’d sold what he held. As crack sold much quicker Clive’s payment ration was different to Sharon’s; but again, things were quick enough for Clive to stay ok. It was every half hour or so when Clive or Sharon entered the back room. I preferred it like that. I used to be a smoker, until family responsibility gave my head a wobble. In the back room I stayed away from temptation and everything ran ok. Everything had to run ok! Even though Trevor unloaded cash to another worker, my bosses were always monitoring for a lapse in security or money. Me getting high would eat into the supply, the money and I would be less on point. Luckily Trevor was there as an extra deterrent. The moment he suspected me of taking drugs he’d be on the phone. My phone vibrated. The number displayed the city’s area code. It would either be Oscar or Menace checking up on me. ‘Yeah’ I answered. ‘How’s tings?’ Oscar’s deep voice came through clear. I imagined his massive body squeezed into a phone box and a big hand engulfing the phone. Oscar was six foot four, in his thirties, muscularly massive and so black his hue seemed the darkest blue. Though we grew together as friends his role was my boss, and in the drug business friendship went over a high balcony and plummeted to the ground. Him asking how things were was a dangerously loaded query. My answers had to be good enough to not make Oscar and Menace visit me for further questioning. Their questioning could require implements, pain and blood stained rooms. ‘Everything’s good’ no names over the phone, ‘reached half way’. I answered relaxed. Oscar would be listening like a polygraph test. ‘Tings correct?’ asked Oscar. He wanted to know if the money was working to his approximate calculations. There had been no big buys. That meant no discounts. Oscar more

Putting away my phone I let out a breath of relief. Ever since Oscar and Menace had borrowed a friend’s flat for a day, I felt nervous talking to them. The worker I’d replaced had been questioned. When the owner of the flat returned he was confronted with a blood splattered room. He told me in confidence and I remember a chill going down my spine. I searched out the worker, but he could not be found. Ever since I worried about things going wrong. I took a sip of Lucozade and watched the TV. A video was playing. There was no aerial, so we had to make do with the small pile of DVDs by the telly. A small white blonde was getting penetrated from behind by a black man with the biggest dick I ever saw. Soon another black man would enter the scene and the woman would multi-task stretching her mouth to engulf another massive appendage. I’d seen the porno’s many times. They no longer did anything for me besides give off light and help keep me awake. So far I’d been awake twenty-four hours. I’d catch a few hours when Trevor returned. My eyelids drooped and my mind drifted to my home life. An empty flat awaited me in the city. I was no longer with my baby mother, but I done what I could for my son Jerome. Jerome was my inspiration to stop me joining those in the other room and smoking. Already in my late twenties, I should have been well entrenched in the gang and above being a lowly worker sitting in a risky crack house. Even my younger cousins were higher up in the ranks than me. I thought it was because I’d briefly lost control and smoked drugs, but it could have been because I was not ready to sacrifice my life for the gang. I was kept out the loop, kept on the outskirts of the biggest gang in the city. Just like terrorist cells, different gangs in different areas operated independently, but a connection ran through all the gang leaders. My family and friends were affiliated, but I had yet to be initiated. A soft tapping of the door told me Sharon wanted a reload. I took out six shots from a bag, secured it back in my coat and slid the bolt on the door. Sharon entered along with the acrid smell of burning crack. When she turned and bent to the bolt, my loins stirred at the shapely sight. I quickly shut down the feeling. I had a casual lover to satisfy me. Plus, I made a point of never being intimate with a female drug user. Others in my position, like Trevor, had no reservations paying to get a blow job or sex, but not me. Sharon had blue eyes, blonde hair and wore an untidy tracksuit. She watched the video as she passed over fifty pounds and moved her hand through her hair and stood in a slightly seductive way. Maybe other workers used

her, but for me it was a no no. I saw Sharon’s wide eyes and knew that once I handed over the shots she would go straight to Clive, give him a shot of ‘bobs’ and receive a shot of ‘whites’ in return. So they had their hit early. I didn’t care as long as they came through with the correct money. Trevor often sat in the room with them and made sure they never smoked before they’d sold enough. Sharon fidgeted as I counted the cash and checked for fakes. Once I passed her shots she was bending to the bolt and saying over her shoulder, ‘Thanks, I’ll be back soon’. As she left and I went to close the door, I saw someone getting ready to inhale on a crack pipe. I could almost taste it. Remembering not being able to watch TV because of no aerial I shouted, ‘Whoever gets me a TV aerial gets looked after!’ No one moved. They were involved with their drug of choice like they were intimately involved with lovers, however I knew that once their money or drugs ran out they would be clambering over each other to get an aerial. Before I could close the door Clive quickly slipped past holding eighty pounds. I stepped back into the dark room and bolted the door. When I pulled out the bag containing the shots I noted Clive’s suppressed surprised look. I gave him his twelve shots, angry at myself for letting him see so much drugs. I unlocked the door, let him out and bolted the door. I’d made a school boy error. Clive would smoke heroin and get chatty about his life, troubles and of course how much crack he’d seen me carrying. Obviously people knew I was in the room with a lot of drugs, but it never tended to come up in casual conversation. Especially with big Trevor listening in. All users, robbers and other crews operating in the area knew our firm was not one to fuck with. Vengeance would be terrible. However, when crack heads are high with nothing more to smoke, they crossed lines despite the consequences. The time was closing on midnight. Trevor was taking his time. I stretched my legs walking up and down in front of the TV and lit a cigarette. The smell of crack still lingered, my hand clenched the bottle. I was experiencing a craving, a strong urge to smoke crack. I thought of the visit off Oscar and Menace

Why Did You Do It? By Jackie Worrall

Explanations for Offending by Young Offenders in Their Own Words

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insidestories when released from a prison sentence. I’d watched them pull up outside a house in a blacked out Lexus. Oscar and Menace stepped out along with a tall black youth. The youth crossed the road, leant against a wall and kept alert, whilst Oscar and Menace knocked the front door. They’d stepped up security since we had hung around the streets smoking weed. Katrina opened the door, she knew them well enough. Oscar filled the doorway, followed by the slightly smaller Menace. Menace, mixed race and in his twenties. He’d stepped up in the game since I wrote him letters from prison, as a youth, with far reaching plans. Both him and Oscar sported enough ‘bling’ and gold to make me rich. They also had black bandanas hanging from their back pockets. Although I’d been to prison and before that living down south, I’d still heard about the gangs. My family were involved too. They had not arrived for a social visit. They knew all about me and what I was capable of, but most of all they could trust me to be predictable. Right from the off Oscar was standing over me trying to intimidate and asking if anyone talked about him or Menace in prison. My intuition warned me to send them from whence they came. However, because of our history I thought it all front. They’d been making so much paper they were trying to make themselves like ghosts, a haunting presence behind the scenes. Katrina had her arms all over me, she knew I’d be making paper soon. I shrugged her off. She was a pretty black women aged twenty four, but she had been around the gang too much. Katrina had satisfied my lust, I wouldn’t visit again. Standing I was dwarfed by Oscar. ‘Come on, let’s move from her.’ I said more confidently than I felt. Menace and Oscar moved to the front door. Katrina pouted. I pulled on my tracksuit top, picked up my cigarettes and told Katrina over my shoulder, ‘Thanks Babe, I’ll see you soon ok.’ I lied. She smiled like she’d won the lottery! Instead she won my contempt. I’d seen through her matrix. The three of us left. The tall youth stood from the wall. Menace waved him over, he trotted past traffic to be let in the back of the Lexus. Menace lifted the passenger seat. I climbed into the back alongside the youth. He offered his fist with respect. Because he travelled with Oscar and Menace, he was deeply involved. I thought I’d be clever and see where they decided to go. ‘What you sayin’ we go for a drink?’ I asked. Menace and Oscar looked at each other. In unspoken agreement Oscar drove into the night time traffic. I leant back in the expensive ride, enjoying the feel of the bass and taking in how much the area had changed. We parked on the car park of the pub called The Moon Under Water and stepped out the Lexus. There were plenty of young men inside of or congregating around cars, whose stereo’s pulsed heavy bass. Most of them displayed bandanas. As we passed by, Oscar, Menace and the youth received respectful nods and flashed hand signals. At the doors stood muscular youths like doormen, they parted and we entered the pub, which had gone through modernisation since my last visit. Everything was a new blue colour and chrome, though what got most of my attention was

the amount of bandanas hanging from pockets. Gang members hung around the two pool tables, the slot machines or occupied corners of the room. Everyone was a cog in a big wheel. Mine was a double brandy. I was celebrating and Menace was paying, the other three ordered bottles of lager, then we returned outside by the car. We were in the middle of our neighbourhood, but Menace and Oscar received surreptitious looks from the other gatherings, like their presence was a rarity. The fact I was with the bosses became apparent, I foolishly thought I shared some of their glory. A silver Mercedes Sports glided onto the car park and parked next to the Lexus. Then an expensive Ducati roared onto the car park and stopped behind the Mercedes. The rider wore full leathers and an helmet. I wondered who the rider was. The windows of the Mercedes were tinted, though I did not wait long to know who it was as the doors opened and two of my cousins stepped out. Wayne held up the seat and Mark boldly stood. My cousins wore fat gold chains and rings, however it was the bandanas hanging from their necks, like cowboys about to do a raid, which I focused on. The motorbike rider pulled off his helmet and I was confronted by my half brother’s accusing stare. They stood watching me, I broke the silence. ‘Wha gwan family?’ I touched fists with my three cousins, Nathan ignored me. ‘Everything is everything.’ Jamie, the oldest replied. His words told me nothing. Wayne and Mark remained silent. I thought, ‘What the fucks got their tongue?’ We had grown together, shared each other’s clothes, eaten in each other’s houses. So I’d been off the scene for years. Where was the family love? Jamie stood close, all muscles in his tracksuit. ‘Jason, don’t fuck up!’ They filed past giving Menace and Oscar hand signals that where a cipher, before being swallowed by the pub. Nathan got off the Ducati and walked over. He decided to ignore me and touched fist with Oscar and Menace. His green and blue eyes slid over mine, but he said nothing as he followed my cousins. Nathan and I had the same father, he took most of our father’s looks, especially with the different coloured eyes. His complexion was lighter than my darker brown. He always used to get the girls easier. I wanted to be closer to my brother, however he took it personal me smoking crack and depleting the savings we’d amassed. My family’s coldness shocked me to the core, I couldn’t contain what had just happened. ‘What the fuck? What’s that about with my cousins and why all the bandanas? It feels like I’m in the Bronx!’ Menace smiled. I wanted to punch his face. Oscar gave the tall youth a look, it was personal, and he got the message and followed my cousins into The Moon Under Water. Oscar punched my shoulder. It hurt like a hammer. I wanted to hit back, but I felt like David against Goliath without a sling. Oscar spoke angrily, ‘People say you’re a waste man. I don’t know whether to agree. You go down south at fifteen, four years later you get a five stretch for robbing fucking students! You should be rolling in paper like your cousins and brother instead; you think we never knew you brought our shit in crack houses? You’ve come out after four years and haven’t even seen your son yet! Times change Jay. Back in the

Insidetime May 2012 www.insidetime.org day you was at the front. Now? Your fucking family have to give your baby mother money. Your son’s eighteen months now and growing big. Maybe he should be wearing black instead of you?’ The last sentence Oscar said quietly and pulled an extra black cloth from a pocket to taunt before me. I reached out to grab it, he snatched it away and returned it to his pocket. ‘Blood. You think you can just wear one of these and that’s it? What would you do to get one?’ ‘What you mean?’ I asked. ‘The black represents family and sacrifice. What’s your sacrifice?’ I stood not knowing the answer. I had nothing to give and Oscar had pierced me with a burning spear by mentioning my son. Menace stepped forward. ‘People looked up to you Jay, but everything’s changed now. If you aint family you aint nobody. I’ll back you. You belong with us, ‘ Menace waved his arm indicating all those in the car park, ‘But you aint ready. We would die for each other. Would you ‘bang’ for us if one of us got lit up?’ Menace read me like an easy comic book. If it came down to it I’d be thinking about a prison life sentence instead of revenge. ‘You see?’ Oscar asked Menace. Menace nodded. ‘You aint ready, but you’ll come to understand. We’ll give you work, see if you start slipping; but the times gonna come to make your choice. Rest up and enjoy yourself this week. Next Monday you double up with someone, see how things run. I know you can run a yard. Don’t fuckin’ smoke! You get me?’ I understood all too clearly; before next week I’d have to think hard about a journey along that dark road. They watched me deep in thought. Oscar handed over a roll of cash, it took a few beats before I pocketed it. Someone knocked. I focused in the present. The loud knock on the door came again. Reaching into a back pocket I pulled out a long lock knife and flicked open the blade. Neither Sharon nor Clive knocked so loudly. Trevor would have rung me before he reached the flat. Without his presence I thought I’d be ready, just in case. I pulled back the bolt ready to stab or slash with the sharp blade. The door opened and I was confronted with a roof TV aerial and wire wrapped around Patrick’s hand. His big smile revealed missing teeth eroded by crack. ‘Fucking hell Patrick,’ I closed the knife, ‘why knock so loud?’ Standing aside I let him enter and caught Sharon and Clive watching with hungry eyes. I bolted the door and Patrick fiddled with the aerial at the back of the TV. I turned on a channel and pressed ‘stop’ on the DVD. A picture flickered then became perfect. ‘Yeah, leave it like that.’ Patrick stood and waited. He wanted looking after. I mentally subtracted fifteen pounds off Clive’s money and told him, ‘Go collect two shots. Ok?’ I was not paying more than two shots. I had to account for nearly everything! Opening the door I held two fingers up to Clive. Patrick went to collect his bonus and get higher. That sorted I locked the door and tried all the channels. I settled on News 24, which indicated that it was 1.45am and that Japan had had a serious earthquake. Their power stations were in meltdown, a reporter showed

the aftermath of a tsunami. Japan looked like one big scrap yard. Trevor was taking way longer than he should have. I punched in the digits to his phone expecting Trevor’s deep voice to answer. Instead I got his answer message, ‘I’ll call you back’ with music in the background. He was never off line. There were enough phone masts around for his phone not to be out of service. I tried again. At the beginning of, ‘I’ll call..’ I disconnected. Trevor could have been robbed or stopped by the police, though the police would leave his phone live to see who called. I phoned the number I had to call when I was ready to leave. I had no other number. As predicted I got an answer phone. I gave my message. ‘Yo. My out has gone off the radar. His phone goes to answer phone. His phone’s never off. He’s even got a fuckin’ extra battery! He went to get some food. That was two hours ago. Fuck knows what’s happened, but right now I’m here with a room full of crack hungry crack fiends. Whoever gets this, get Oscar to call me ASAP.’ I ended the call but kept hold of the phone, hoping fucking clever Trevor called. Out of habit my fingers were crossed. I’d give it a little longer then sit with the smokers. If business slowed they may smoke the shots I’d given and desert to another crack house. I looked after them well enough, but crack and heroin were like demons that took over the user’s will. I should know, having boxed people to the floor for a single shot! Another soft tapping at the door, Sharon again. I drew back the bolt and pulled the door open quick. I wanted them to know I was on point and alert. Sharon was startled as I pulled her into the room and bolted the door. Her hand shook slightly as she passed me two crumpled twenties. ‘Someone come with forty pounds and bought all the shots.’ She didn’t look me in the eye. Trevor had not been watching, so she could have sold six single ten shots and give Clive the money from the last two to buy shots of whites. I had no way of knowing. I gave Sharon her six shots and followed her into the smoker’s room. Clive, Patrick and Sharon all watched me take a seat with their wide eyes. I couldn’t allow them to short me money. The overall losses came out my pay. And a good thing me keeping an eye on things too. Clive never used to smoke whites, only bobs. His eyelids should have been drooping from the narcotics effects. Instead he looked at my jacket with wide mesmerised eyes. The bastard had started smoking crack and was now fixated on what he’d caught a glimpse of earlier. I put in another call to Trevor. The bastard! Where was he? Still got the answer phone! I pulled my lock knife out my pocket, flicked out the blade, and watched for any reactions. Sharon was sucking on a bottle made crack pipe, her hands shook. Where was fucking Trevor. I cleaned my nails with the blade, though they were clean anyway. I wanted to make everyone nervous as I stared into their drug induced gazes. Along with my employed smokers there were four others. One was a skinny white guy named Kevin who was a petty shoplifter. He seemed to visit back and forth twenty four hours a day. The hunger inside of him always needed feeding. His baseball cap was pulled low, so I couldn’t look into his eyes as he chased the dragon up and down a long piece

Insidetime May 2012 www.insidetime.org of foil. A new fresh looking girl sat next to him. She had long flowing brown hair done up all wavy in an attractive way. She wore high heels and a black dress that just covered her knees. In other circumstances I might have been attracted, however she was leaning close to Kevin and nudging him for a go on the foil. What a waste. Dreadlocked ‘Dagger’ was sitting next to them and searching the table for bits of crack. His eyes were like saucers. Soon his long body would be on hands and knees searching further. Dagger was the type of smoker that once high, could not talk. If he was not a person that switched easily to violence in a moment, he’d be comical. Trevor would usually rush him out the crack house once he’d finished smoking, however I lacked the physical presence to cause Dagger to feel threatened. I was muscular but short. I could use my body as a dangerous weapon and be handy with my knife, however a big bruiser like Trevor was good at moving people. The other person in the room was a white man in a tracksuit. He wore a gold ring and had a tidy hair cut. He was sitting back on a chair and not smoking. His complexion did not mark him as a smoker and his eyes were normal. He briefly held my stare before looking away. ‘Yo! What you doin here. How come you aint smoking?’ I asked loudly and stood. The man held up his hands. ‘I’m waiting for Tracy. She’s on her way.’ Tracy was a prostitute and often visited in the early hours. ‘You her man?’ I asked. ‘Yeah. I’m Andy.’ He relaxed back in his chair. I was feeling edgy. Trevor was missing and dagger was now searching around Kevin’s feet. Kevin looked at me and then Dagger. It was down to me to get rid of the tall Rasta. ‘Oi! What you doing man.’ I stood over Dagger, careful not to show the knife. He couldn’t talk, but he stood anyway. I had to look up into his face. ‘Time to go ‘bredrin’. You done smoke your tings. There aint nothing but bread crumbs on the floor. So go now’. I pointed to the door with the knife. As if in slow motion I watched Dagger’s left hand whip out to grab my right hand and twist clockwise. It was a practiced move. I jumped backwards out of reach without thinking. A lucky thing too. I barely escaped the slash of the knife as Dagger swished it from left to right at eye level. I kicked out aiming for the knife. Dagger well lived up to his name by deftly flicking the long blade from left to right hand. He threw the knife between left and right hand as if getting a feel for its weight. He definitely liked the feel because he gave a wide big toothed smile. Looking into his crack head gaze I experienced a feeling of dread. Dagger was ready to cross a line. I thought quickly and tried to diffuse the situation. ‘So you can work the knife good Dagger. Pass it back now and go about your business!’ ‘B b b bloodclart’ Dagger struggled to get his words out. ‘Bloodclart g g give m m m me tings!’ No fucking way was he robbing me! Quickly looking at those in the room I discovered that far from being on side to help, Patrick had been creeping behind and Kevin stood up beside Dagger. The woman in the

black dress had her fist in her mouth as if biting back a scream. Sharon was by the nonsmoker in the tracksuit, who was standing. I read Sharon easy. It seemed the drug fiends were in possession of demons! Clive had been to the left of me and slightly behind. As I turned to check his position he was swinging a piece of wood at my head. There was a flash behind my eyes as the wood hit my temple. One moment I was standing, the next I’m trying to stand. Patrick took the last step and was able to wrap his big arms around me. Taking the opportunity Kevin jumped me. I pushed backwards, Patrick hit the wall, but he had the super strength of psychotic crack. In one movement I kicked out and stopped Kevin then brought my foot down hard on Patrick’s instep. He grunted, moved his foot but held on strongly. I tried head butting backwards, but Patrick kept his head tucked in close. I felt his rough grey hair against the back of my neck. Dagger approached slowly with the knife out in front, but Kevin rose from the floor in a rage and jumped me again. He wrapped his legs and arms around me and bit into the flesh of my cheek. He moved his head about as if trying to tear it. I couldn’t believe the fiends were attacking me. Didn’t they know there would be come backs? I tried to struggle. I was lying on top of Patrick with him pinning my arms to my side. Kevin was worrying my flesh like a dog. I did not want to lose the stash. I tried to kick. I struggled and I fought and fought, but then out the corner of my eye I saw Clive swing again. The last thing I saw before unconsciousness was Dagger leaning over me with my knife. Pain or the banging door woke me. Light penetrated around the edges of a boarded up broken window, I recognised the unused room where I’d been dumped. The banging door made worse the pain inside my skull. I put my hand to my head and felt a lump the size of an egg. The side of my face was throbbing too. My hand came away sticky with blood, but I was relieved no skin had been torn away. I felt my jacket, hoping … it had been sliced open. I moved all my boy parts and felt my torso. No more damage. Finding the bags of drugs had probably had the fiends arguing with me comatose and forgotten. I’d been dumped next to a wall. Standing shakily I experienced dizziness. I moved to the door carefully. It felt like I’d been on a fast spinning roundabout. The hallway light was on. Someone knocked the door again. ‘Hold on!’ I shouted. Pain flared. My head and face throbbed. With the light illuminating the gloom of the room I saw the reason for Trevor’s absence. He was lying in the room with a big scab of congealed blood around his head. His jeans were down, like he’d been doing something. I’d never seen a dead body before. Lifeless is definitely the correct term for the thing that was no longer a person. I crossed my fingers, but Trevor had left his corpse and may well have been touching fists with Tupac in ghetto heaven or hell. I remembered Sharon shaking earlier, and I envisioned Trevor with his pants down in a

insidestories compromising position. Sharon must have distracted Trevor, with Clive creeping up behind with his cut down pool cue. They’d took the money and had been shots with our own cash! I checked the main room. As expected it was empty. I was just about to answer the door when I noticed my knife reflecting light on the table. The blade was still out. Not bothering to conceal it I went to the front door and looked through the spy hole. Tracy stood on one leg then the other. Her legs were probably worn out from walking the streets and no doubt she was close to withdrawal from heroin. I decided to get some information from her. Folding away the knife I closed the door on Trevor and opened the door for Tracy. She rushed past me, ‘I want three whites and two brown’. She stopped in the smoking room when seeing nobody. I explained, ‘Andy’s gone to the twenty four hour garage and I’m waiting for a reload, you might as well wait.’ Tracy saw my face for the first time. There was no missing the big lump and bite marks. Wanting drugs more than anything she sat on a chair, but asked, ‘What happened to you?’ ‘it’s nothing. Just an argument at home’ I inwardly cursed. I should have washed away the blood. Tracy had not seen me since arriving in town. ‘I’m starting to deliver soon. You phone, I come.’ ‘Yeah?’ Tracy was playing with her hair impatiently.

gripped the phone as I heard humour in his voice. ‘After they took out my man six of them jumped me! They left me for dead cuz! I just woke up next to my man. He won’t be waking though. I’ve just borrowed this phone off a smoker. She don’t know anything. I’m gonna keep this phone. The bastards took my phone too! Get the big man to call ASAP. There might be still time to recoup. I know their names and where one of them lives.’ ‘Alright, say nothing to the smoker.’ As if he needed to tell me, ‘kick her out!’ Jamie was all business now. ‘Yeah’ I replied and disconnected. I searched my pockets. The little hard to find pocket still held a roll of my personal cash. I peeled off five twenties and went to give the bad news. Tracy was sucking on the end of one of her wavy locks of hair. Forcing myself to be pleasant, ‘Sorry Tracy’ she was holding her hand out for her phone. ‘Got to borrow this for a while.’ I put the money in her hand which quickly disappeared inside her bosom. ‘Tracy the shops locked. No more tings tonight. You might find Andy in another crack house or at home, but for now fuck off!’ ‘When will I get my phone back?’ Tracy hesitated by the front door. ‘Tomorrow’ I lied. The phone was now evidence.

‘Where you and Andy living now?’ I held my breath before she answered. ‘You know the three high rises?’ she asked. I nodded. ‘We’re in the middle block, sixth floor, number seventy four. Can you remember that luv?’ ‘What? Oh’ I’d been leaning against the wall with my eyes closed. ‘Yeah, number seventy four. Give me your phone a minute.’ I held out my hand. Tracy handed over her phone and I tried not to stagger into the back room. The TV had no picture. Patrick had taken back the aerial! Bastard! Not that I would be returning to the place. Kevin, Sharon, Dagger, Andy, Patrick and the unfortunate witness in the sexy black dress, were all going to pay a terrible price. This time I phoned Jamie, my cousin. He’d soon get the message where it needed to go and would probably get involved too. I slowly punched in his house number. I’m crap at remembering numbers, luckily I’d phoned his house phone from prison. I listened to the phone ringing with my fingers crossed. I had this crazy habit of crossing my fingers every time I hoped for something. As I done so the phone was picked up. ‘Yo!’ Jamie answered sleepily. ‘It’s me cuz. I need help!’ Jamie knew my voice. ‘Aar shit! Smoked the tings?’ He’d expected me to fail, but my next words made him wide awake. ‘Naa, more serious cuz. While I was in the back the fiends took out my man. Cheeky fuckers were buying crack with our own money.’ I felt shame having to tell my cousin. ‘So what you saying. The fiends jacked you?’ I

‘Ok’ she said as the door opened. ‘By the way it stinks like a dead cat in here!’ Tracy announced before slamming the door. I listened to the sound of her high heels receding. She was right. I could smell the body starting to turn. I pulled my leather golfing gloves from my torn coat. I’d watched all the detective programmes in prison and knew fingerprints could be lifted from dead skin. Opening the door a sickly smell wafted out. I pulled my sweater over my nose and mouth and got down to the terrible task of searching Trevor for things that could ID him. I found his phone first. The battery had been taken off

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insidestories and tossed into a corner with his phone. By his shoulder, just outside the big scab of dark congealed blood was his wallet. Inside there were pictures of him and his family. The money had gone. Trevor had a library card and a student card. A fucking student! I looked down at the greying Trevor. He did not seem threatening anymore. I would never have sussed he was a student! The last thing to find was a black bandana tucked deep inside a pocket in his coat. I remembered Oscar’s words, ‘Would you bang for us?’ Tracy’s ring tone was the croaking of a frog. Oscar got talking straight away. ‘Give me the name of the fiends.’ I gave them. ‘Alright now follow these directions. Get on the main road and keep walking until you reach the pub called the Old Goat. Don’t take a taxi or get a lift, and make sure you walk on your own!’ He disconnected and left me to worry. My solitary walk would leave no record. Was I to pay with my life? I went and plonked myself down in the smoker’s room. I didn’t want to go, but the only choice was the police and no way was I putting my family in danger, my son! Under the table I saw a shot of whites someone had dropped. I picked it up. On the table was Sharon’s bottle crack pipe. I unravelled the cling film until a rock of crack rested on my palm. A small voice inside was telling me it was ok to smoke after everything that had happened. I used a piece of paper to shovel ash onto the pipe and dropped the brownish white rock on top. Pulling out my lighter I lifted the pipe to my lips and flicked the lighter. All it would take was for me to light the crack and inhale. I put away my lighter and threw the bottle at the wall. With an explosion of water the pipe came apart. Whatever my fate I’d face it on my own two feet and head on without any form of crutch. I looked in on Trevor, he hadn’t moved. I locked the crack house behind me and set out towards my fate. After walking the distance to the Old Goat most of my dizziness had diminished. As I approached I saw the grassy car park was filled with cars all parked inwards in a circle. Once their lights were turned on the centre would light up like daylight. The Old Goat was in darkness. I didn’t know the connection the pub had with the gang, but it must have been safe for so many cars to gather in such a fashion. There was movement in the circle, but it was dark and I could not see clearly. As I stepped past one of the cars they all put their lights on high beam and I wished they hadn’t. In the centre there were prone figures with limbs at angles that told me they were corpses who had experienced broken bones before death. Oscar and Menace were standing over the bodies of Sharon, Clive, Patrick, Kevin, the woman in the black dress and the non smoker Andy. Up close I saw knife and gun wounds. Throats had been slit, bellies cut open, bones sticking out of legs and arms, as if they’d been beaten with sledge hammers. The gang had worked them over and ended their life. To one side in a pile was the missing money and most of the drugs. I was relieved the money and drugs had mostly been recovered, but overriding that was the feeling of nausea from seeing the corpses.

Menace and Oscar stood with the bodies between us. ‘How the fuck could you let this happen?’ asked Menace. I was about to say I had nothing to do with the dead bodies but Oscar stalled me. ‘You was running the show. You should have been on point!’ He shouted angrily. ‘These fools,’ he spat at the dead, ‘went to another one of our crack houses and were going on like they’d won the pools! Idiots! Don’t worry though. We thought you’d want revenge too’. He lifted his hand and Dagger was propelled into the circle with his hands tied. He stumbled. ‘Maybe you should go with them’ Oscar pointed at the dead bodies. ‘You’re not family.’ I thought I knew what needed to be done. This time I held my knife in an underhand grip. No one would take my knife again. I crossed the distance to Dagger and cut the black plastic ties binding his hands. I’ll never know the crazy thought that entered his head and made him smile another big toothed smile. That was enough for me. With adrenaline filled speed I grabbed his long dreadlocks and sliced the knife across his neck giving him an even bigger smile. I held him up as blood sprayed my face, my hair, my clothes. I thought being bathed in his blood would settle things. I’d killed. What other sacrifice would they need? Oscar and Menace stepped close. I must have been a sight with all the blood, but they seemed unfazed with their serious expressions. Menace spoke quietly, but I saw Oscar reach behind his back. ‘Jay now’s the time. Them dead bodies will soon disappear, they’re nothing! What’s your choice? Make it quick!’ Menace moved his hand slowly and I noticed a missing finger. Everything became clear. I experienced clarity. I no longer feared the gun behind Oscar’s back. I was ready. Oscar had told me the bandanas meant family and sacrifice. The sacrifice was being willing to shed blood. I leaned down and wiped the blade on the black dress of the previously attractive female. Menace pulled a bottle of rum from inside his coat and passed it. I tipped it on the knife to make sure all the blood had been sterilized, and then passed back the bottle. I held the knife out for all to see. I placed the tip of the long blade on the palm of my right hand. That night I don’t know where I got the strength, but looking Oscar in his eyes I put pressure to the knife. With pain the knife pierced my flesh. I continued building the pressure and the knife slowly entered my palm. There was a burning sensation with every millimetre the knife penetrated. I watched transfixed as first a raised lump appeared on the back of my hand then the glint of the knife as it slowly rose. I kept

Insidetime May 2012 www.insidetime.org pushing and remained silent, but my tears spoke for me. About half way I could hold my hand up with the knife clearly through my hand. Someone moved past the light of a car. My brother Nathan approached. I couldn’t seem to get the knife to go further. Bones and sinew blocked its path. Nathan stepped close, took my hand with the knife and spoke loudly. ‘My brother gives his pain and blood for all of us. Let this last act symbolize a brother helping brother in time of need.’ Nathan rammed the rest of the long blade through and lifted my hand and knife high for all to see. I was barely standing with the pain, my legs felt like jelly. Blood flowed down my arms and into my sleeve. All of a sudden car horns sounded out into the night. I was accepted and my brother had forgiven me. when the noise stopped Oscar approached with a bandana clear in his hand. Nathan let go of my hand and returned amidst the lights. Oscar spoke quietly ‘Take out the knife Jay.’ Wasting no time I yanked hard and the knife came free with a spray of blood. ‘Give me your hand brother.’ I held out my hand. Oscar wrapped the black cloth around my wound and tied it tight, then surprised me by engulfing me in his bear like arms and saying ‘Welcome home fam.’ As he moved aside gang members gave me a brief hug and repeated the same words. ‘Welcome home fam’. My brother and cousins were the last to welcome me while cars started to reverse and drive away into the night. Menace pointed at the pile of money and salvaged drugs. ‘That’s your stake now fam. You don’t need to sit in crack houses no more. You know how it goes. Pick some ‘peeps’ you trust and run the ting one or two steps removed. Go on, pick it up.’ I couldn’t help smell the bodies and see their faces twisted in various expressions of their pain filled endings. Once I’d pocketed the goods a dark Mondeo pulled up close. The boot opened and the grisly task of wedging bodies inside tightly packed ensued. Five bodies had to be hidden under a blanket on the back seats. I was glad of my family’s help. I was more tired than I’d ever been and couldn’t have done it alone. Once finished Oscar spoke quietly to the driver who then drove sedately away. As the car turned the corner I asked ‘So what happens now?’ And what about Trevor?’ Oscar looked as if he was making a decision, and then told me. ‘The fiends are off to an incinerator, but Trevor has to be seen to have an accident so his mother can bury him. As for you? Get cleaned up and go get your hand stitched. Tomorrow we roll!

The Morning After By Stephen Marsh - HMP Swaleside Simon looked for his keys and couldn’t find his pocket. He looked for his pocket and couldn’t find his trousers. He’d been drinking all day and now he was locked out, at three in the morning, with no trousers or shirt on. The neighbours had never liked him so that was a non starter. He saw the neighbour opposite had washing on the line. He took what he could feel in the darkness. He reversed the charges to a locksmith. As the sun rose he waited outside his front door and the street slowly came to life. He said good morning and nobody asked him why he was there. Not until the neighbour from opposite shouted; ‘Oy! Why have you got my little black dress on?’

Superking By Matthew Williams ex prisoner

I

made a bed so big that everyone in the world could fit in it, with a little room left over for those who wriggle. Being a carpenter of some renown, it was easy peasy, and I finished it in three days flat. Then I made enough cocoa for everyone on the planet in an urn the size of Saint Paul’s, and invited all who were weary to come and have a good night’s rest. I was sure that by doing so, all of the world’s ills could be cured overnight. And so, as one by one I tucked the entire population of the earth into bed after supper, I yawned contentedly and put out the light. But as soon as I began to nod off, I heard giggling. ‘Sshh! People are trying to get some rest!’ I whispered, to noah veil. The giggles continued. As I made my way through the covers, I also heard the unmistakable groans of sexual ecstasy from more than one location. ‘Oi, you there,’ I hissed, ‘this is no time for horseplay!’ But the groans ceased not. Then, other tumults began to arise in the still night air. A great brouhaha had started between the Israelis and the Palestinians, with Zionists claiming that God had told them they were entitled to annex all the Palestinians’ hot water bottles. Just as I was calming affronted dignity, Brazil began to throw an impromptu party, sending quivers that rocked the mattress for several miles. I shook my head in despair as cavorting preoperative trans-sexuals in sequined gowns began to samba. Bleeding Latin noctophiles! Then I spotted a shifty gang of Norwegian astronomers, dressed in jimjams of their country’s colours, setting up a telescope. ‘You lot, get back to sleep!’ I yelled, accidentally waking a snoozing huddle of Greenlandic children, who began to cry. ‘But how do we watch stars in the day?’ complained the surly Norwegians, and I shrugged, stuck for a reply. Then Australia wanted to go for a pee, and clambered over the French (who were all soundly asleep), and another row began. Within the hour, the entire bed was a seething stew of humanity, with not a sleeping soul in sight. Angry and disillusioned, I slunk off to my bedsit in Wallasey and slammed the door. As I looked out over the deserted street, I wept. How had my wonderful plan gone so wrong? Had I only succeeded in inadvertently fomenting hatred amongst my kin? Poor, poor humanity, could it never rest?