Six months for murder. That was the headline. The top end punishment for any crime lasted two seasons of the year.
And with food thrown in as well! Basic entertainment! The news channels went nuts. ‘Out by Christmas’ ran the summer headlines.
In terms of the basic setup of the room, the essentials are catered for. A single bed with decent duvet and pillow. A bathroom with shower and toilet, and an actual private door. A comfy armchair with reading material. They changed the books and magazines every week.
On day one I stroked the thick carpet, and thought this was not such a bad result for a car jacker. Apart from the triple locks and steel bars on the windows you might not even realise this was a cell.
But the problems started from the moment I sat down. Despite the single bed, this is a room of multiple occupancy.
She sneaks in from the corners of the room. Her hair is long and dark, her clothes white and flowing. They provide a contrast with the bright decor, which means you spot her immediately. She is so close to opaque. Her eyes are black pits that I cannot look at. Her teeth and mouth are so long.
If her words are a human language, I do not speak it. Sometimes she huffs or smiles. I have not worked out a pattern for what reaction happens when.
She never gets too close. Theoretically I could ignore her, and keep on reading. But come on. Imagine that watching from the corner. Even though her lungs no longer exist, every ragged breath bubbles with the noise of stale well water.
The prison meals are nutritious and well cooked. They are cardboard ashes in my mouth. The magazines are decent, and I get to pick my preferred interests from a list of twenty. I cannot read more than one sentence.
I wish I had read something about her before my incarceration. About long haired ghosts in popular culture. What they mean. How to defeat them. But that chance has gone. It is day 37. I have 149 days to go.
Those who visit the hangman have it easy.
Line: If her words are a human language, I do not speak it.
