"Long story, man," the man answered. However, if this was all he said, it was a lie. He began to unravel his own narrative, detailing how his legs became amputated and one of his hands irreparably broken and dislocated."You see, I entered this prison as a healthy man. My crimes weren't that significant. I robbed a bank because I couldn't bear to watch my daughter suffer. We hadn't eaten for days, and robbing the bank seemed like my only option." He took a deep sigh and continued talking."Yes, you guessed right. The mission was unsuccessful, and before I knew it, I was completely surrounded by the police. I had no guns, only a knife and a dagger. I never headed to the vault but collected pieces from each person I encountered in the bank. I just wanted to be able to feed my daughter and move on with life the next day.""While being surrounded, there was nothing more I could do than raise my hands in the air and let the police apprehend me. God knows it was the biggest mistake I ever m
After speaking for hours, the man who had conversed with him advised Mr. Alexander to get some sleep. He emphasized the importance of having alert eyes to observe any unfortunate events that might occur in the morning. And with that, Mr. Alexander retreated to the corner of his cell once again, burying his head in his ankle like a ship seeking refuge in the harbor of solitude, sheltering itself from the tempest of the prison's harsh reality. He sat on the ground, succumbing to a haunted sleep. *** The next morning revealed Mr. Alexander as a mere specter of resilience, marked by the weariness of a night spent in the clutches of haunted dreams, like a tattered flag fluttering weakly after enduring the relentless storm of a sleepless night. His eyes, burdened with unrest, betrayed the toll of his surroundings. Disheveled strands of hair clung to his forehead, bearing witness to the restless hours entangled in unsettling dreams. As he rose from the dark corner of his cell, his eyes fir
Seeing how bold, tall, and dangerous this prisoner appeared and observing his audacious manner of poking at him was akin to witnessing a prowling lion, confident in its dominance, taunting its prey before the impending strike. Mr. Alexander then immediately turned his back, attempting to escape from this menacing part of the communal bathroom like a startled deer seeking refuge from the looming threat in the dark forest. "I have to run," he muttered in total fright, his voice a tremor in the echoing silence, like a desperate whisper carried away by the chilling wind of impending danger. However, if his intention was for success, it was a futile hope. "And where do you think you are running to, huh?" Another prisoner said this behind him and pushed him forward like a pawn on the unforgiving chessboard of the prison's power dynamics. As Mr. Alexander was pushed forward, he witnessed how the older prisoners immediately surrounded him. He also noticed how they revealed smirks on their c
Ethan said nothing in response to Mr. Alexander's words. Instead, as if he hadn't heard him, he seized a seat on the other side of the table and crossed his left leg over his right.Yet, this did not mean he spoke at this moment. The only sound was the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on the table, as if he were playing an invisible piano.In this manner, Ethan Mark exuded authority. Gazing calmly from Mr. Alexander's feet to the tangled mess of hair atop his head, he looked at him. With a serenity akin to the gentle flow of the Nile and a voice as soft as a satisfied dove contemplating a defeated jungle lion, he suddenly spoke."Kneel and apologize."Upon hearing these words, Mr. Alexander's eyes widened in shock. He never anticipated a day when he would be asked to kneel and beg for mercy, especially from the person he had always regarded as a poor bastard.Like an enslaved cat in the presence of a lion, Mr. Alexander fell to his knees as Ethan Mark instructed, pleading, "I was a ter
Like a fish forced to live in the desert for the crime she had committed, Isabella's prison days wove a bleak tapestry of monotony and despair. The cold, unforgiving reality of prison life left her yearning for freedom, with each passing moment feeling like an eternity. The absence of familiar faces and the pervasive loneliness created a profound sense of desolation that permeated every aspect of her existence.Most especially, the daily beatings from her tormentor, Elara Whitewind, resembled an unrelenting storm, leaving Isabella's spirit battered and broken, akin to a shipwreck in the tempest of her despair. This was the reason she wished she had never set foot in the prison yard, mess hall, or communal bathroom ever again.However, whether she wished to visit those places or not, prison protocol had to be followed, leaving her no choice but to be present even in the devil's face if the protocol demanded it.In the dimly lit mess hall, clattering trays and hushed conversations fille
As Isabella saw her mother through the glass panel, her eyes first peered at her face, which was fresh and glowing like a sun-kissing morning, radiating warmth and vitality. Similarly, she observed her hair, cascading strands of silk, flowing effortlessly, resembling a gentle waterfall gracing a serene landscape.But if that were all, it would be a lie. She also noticed her dress, which was as beautiful as a field of blooming flowers, each petal a vibrant hue, creating a tapestry of elegance. Likewise, her neck, ears, and wrists were adorned with jewelry, resembling constellations adorning the night sky, each piece a sparkling star in the galaxy of her elegance.Taking in this perfect image of her mother, the thought immediately struck Isabella that her mother's current appearance was the complete inverse of hers—a mess in a uniform and in a confined space, akin to a wildflower struggling to bloom in a cramped garden bed."Been a while," Victoria Sinclair said again, immediately as Is
Pushing her back into her prison cell like a reluctant pawn being returned to its square on a chessboard, Isabella fell on the prison floor, resembling a fragile autumn leaf descending with a surrender to the inevitable embrace of the cold, hard ground. No matter how her voice had risen in anger towards her mother in the meeting room, she knew very well that she wanted to read the contents of the letter in the envelope and discover the help Ethan Mark had promised her. "Would he file for my release?" "Has he bought me a home as a sign of my forgiveness?" "Would he take me back as his wife?" Different questions rushed through her mind like a tumultuous river, each query cascading over the other. As she held the envelope in her hand, she sat at the corner of her cell and stared at it much more closely. In this way, she saw that the surface of the envelope bore a faint trace of handling, like a blank canvas marked only by the weight of the untold. She also observed the edges, crisp
Ethan was covered in beads of sweat like a runner after a several days of marathon. Likely so, his breathing was so heavy that his nose alone couldn't handle the task. He had received a phone call about his daughter being involved in a ghastly car accident and had sprinted from his workplace to the hospital. All the information Ethan had about the accident was from the phone call. When he arrived at the hospital, he found his wife, Isabella, already drenched in tears. Immediately after he walked in, Isabella sighted him from a distance and hurriedly walked towards him. Suddenly, she raised her fingers, and what landed on Ethan’s face was a wide slap that resounded throughout the hospital. "Where the hell have you been?" she yelled, tears streaming down her face like a waterfall and mucus escaping her nose like wisps of steam. Still filled with anger, she threw a punch at Ethan's chest and pushed him so forcefully backwards that Ethan almost fell to the ground. "Our daughter has be