Despite being surrounded by luscious acres of green grass none grew within the walls of the immense prison. Aiden wondered if this was a result of all the electrical fencing, or if nature just knew that she was not welcome here. This was a place for those who did not deserve to hear the sweet lullaby of birdsong, or breathe in the luscious scent of a blooming flower. Here, the condemned were at the last outpost before hell, but no doubt many felt like they were already there. Whilst from a distance Eastham looked impressive, once inside you realized just how imposing a structure can really be. Aiden had only just arrived but was already looking forward to being able to drive away.
‘Freedom’, he mused to himself, ‘is much too underrated’.
Inside was not much better. The air felt decidedly cooler and the indifferent grey of the stone had crept along the interior walls in the form of paint. Green doors, though the colour of baby sick, were a welcome break from the dismal decorating. Aiden was led along countless corridors, his footsteps echoing on the plastic tiled floors. He was ushered through so many security gates that he began to worry if he was ever going to be able to get back out.
‘Prisoner 929 is in maximum security.’ The burly female guard had told him when he had finally made it to reception, her voice monotonous as if she had forgotten how to express emotion. He was currently being led by another, equally ample female form, down a labyrinth of corridors. His palms were sweaty and his attempts to make small talk had not even been acknowledged. The women who worked there were tough; he supposed that they had to be. But no matter how tough they were, he knew that they would be no match for what lay behind the locked doors which they were now passing by. Aiden had expected hands grasping through railings, voices crying out their innocence, but all was quiet. Those cells he passed where you could see in, the lone occupants were sat, sometimes reading, sometimes just staring into space; none so much as fluttered an eyelid as he clomped past.
Finally he was motioned into a small room where one wall was made entirely of Perspex glass. Beyond the glass, there was a lone chair facing him which was flanked by two guards. On Aiden’s side of the glass there was a basic desk and a plastic chair.
‘929 will be with you shortly’, the woman told him. ‘I’ll wait for you outside.’ Aiden nodded and thanked her but she was already gone before the words had even left his mouth. He moved the chair and positioned himself opposite the other currently vacant chair. Placing his briefcase on the desk he took out a Dictaphone and a notebook. He had no idea what to expect from Prisoner 929.
Carys Jones loves nothing more than to write and create stories which ignite the reader's imagination. Based in Shropshire, England, Carys lives with her husband, two guinea pigs and her adored canine companion Rollo.
When she's not writing, Carys likes to indulge her inner geek by watching science- fiction films or playing video games.
She lists John Green, Jodi Picoult and Virginia Andrews as her favorite authors and draws inspiration for her own work from anything and everything.
To Carys, there is no greater feeling then when you lose yourself in a great story and it is that feeling of ultimate escapism which she tries to bring to her books.
For more information about Carys please visit www.carys-jones.com or follow her on Twitter; @tiny_dancer85