[original] Closest Taste of Freedom
Title: Closest Taste of Freedom
Rating: M (for violence)
Words: 2000
Notes: Closest Taste of Freedom was written for Imagination:Unleashed forums' fiction contest with the umbrella theme last, and placed third on the said contest.
Closest Taste of Freedom
by Lorena Fabiaña
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In his dreams, he flies in the clear skies, glides through the clouds, dances with lightning at the beat of the thunder. He swims in the seas of stars and explores the multiple unknowns that even the greatest minds have yet to uncover. He rests on the moon, hangs and swings his legs on the edge of its crescent, nibbling a small portion, reliving his old childhood belief that the moon is made of cheese.
Sometimes, he would also dream of simple, realistic things, like catching up while eating pizza with a friend.
He also dreams of his ultimate wish: to travel the world. He would dive in the bluest waters of some Pacific territory, visit the thousand-year-old temples and palaces in Europe and Asia, meet some friendly faces, and taste every delicious dish on the face of the earth.
His dreams, wish fulfillments, are his treasures.
Sadly, they would remain as it is: dreams.
Aside from the fact that some of the aforementioned events are not possible in real life, the iron bars of Hillside Penitentiary had separated him from the rest of the free world, the law sentencing him to remain inside this criminal box as punishment for the things that he has done.
Cruel, unforgivable things
(He remembers the incident. She wasn’t supposed to be there. She isn’t the target.
She shouldn’t have stuck her head out and screamed.
If not, they would have been intact. His conscience would have restrained him, had it not left.
She wouldn’t have let out that heart-wrenching sob as he drew the gun and shot her abdomen and then her chest, repeatedly, so that she would stop.
He wouldn’t have had that memory of her trying to gasp for air, her almond eyes widening and slowly being drained out of life, and her last word-
‘Why?’
-uttered in a hoarse whisper before she coughed out blood and left this world.
His accomplice wouldn’t have had his chance to violate her. He hardly cared at that moment, whatever he did to her, but it haunted him.
Ella Davenport
She was one of the lines on his list, and hopefully the last before his conscience becomes part of the past.)
Life imprisonment without parole, his sentence was. It was atonement for all his sins, but it didn’t satisfy the Davenport family, especially not Ella’s older brother. He would have killed him right there and then, if only he didn’t have the law and morals to stop him from doing so.
It would be his sixth year serving time in a few days. It wasn’t exactly an anniversary he would like to celebrate.
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He didn’t really believe in any deity, but if ever one really exists, he/she/it/they must have loved him for giving him this ‘anniversary’ gift.
It was the closest taste of freedom.
He gives the warden the sheet of paper and the pen he used.
Now, he waits and keeps his hopes up.
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Boredom, curiosity and the Internet. It’s a very volatile combination, if good judgment isn’t used.
Random searches lead her to something she didn’t know existed.
Inmate Inbox
Inmate Inbox invites people to communicate with prisoners who wish to have pen pals from the world beyond the bars.
She considers herself sensible, but the prospect of doing something good yet dangerous attracted her. She scans each inmate profile and evaluates them.
When the haze of novelty slightly faded, fear replaced her excitement, but that did not prevent her from searching further.
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Her interest still didn’t die away.
It was amazing to see their artwork and poetry displayed on the site. Some needed improvement, and some were incredible. She was on the fourth page. A watercolor painting of a bird caught her attention. Upon clicking it, she was brought to the owner’s profile.
Hello there!
Thank you for dropping by and reading my profile. I am Andrew Castell, 27 years old. My hobbies are reading, painting, dancing and baseball, etc. I have an eclectic taste in music, from Bach to Britney Spears. (Yep, you’ve seen that right.)
Being behind bars gave me another perspective in life. It’s not something to be emulated, the things I’ve done, surely, but it made me appreciate life and freedom. I’d like to share more with you.
Hope to hear from you soon!
She writes an introductory message and sends it the next day.
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It has been eight weeks since he signed up for the letter-writing program. He didn’t bother to be excited, the day mail came. No one would like to pick a murderer for a pen pal.
“Castell,” called his cell mate, Kevin, “a letter for you.” Kevin is half a foot taller than him, muscled, tattooed, and bald. He’s the picture of a typical inmate, except for his tiny voice.
He shot out of his bed. “For me?” he parroted. Kevin rolled his eyes and tossed him the envelope.
Upon catching, he immediately opened the letter, like a kid tearing wrapping paper of his birthday gift.
The letter was concise, but it made him smile nonetheless.
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Dear Andrew Castell,
I hope you’d like to correspond with me. I think we have a few things in common like painting and reading. I hope you are well there.
Sincerely,
Melissa
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He excitedly writes his reply, even though he knows that he had until the day after tomorrow. It’s awkward but exciting.
It is his first letter after all.
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“Melissa!” her younger sister, Kate, hollered, “You have a letter.”
She couldn’t help but giggle at the tone of Kate’s sentence. She ran downstairs to retrieve the letter.
She opens it and reads.
Dear Melissa,
Thanks for replying. Receiving your letter made me happy. Things are fine here. It’s peaceful as it can get. A few fights here and there. How are things on the other side of the fence?
I see that you like reading and painting. What are your favorite books? I think you’ve seen my works on the site, or
so they said. I hope you find them good.
Looking forward,
Andrew
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He wouldn’t let it show. It would greatly affect his image.
He was still hung over the fact that he had a pen pal and that he sent her a message back. He couldn’t get over his reply, worrying what he gave away with those words he wrote.
He was acting like a self-conscious sissy.
“Dude, hit me,” he asked Kevin. In return the bald guy raised an eyebrow.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Kevin, “You want a fist because you’re not satisfied of internally smacking yourself for being a fag.”
Bull’s eye! Andrew couldn’t say anything to that.
Kevin tightly smiled before giving him a black eye.
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They have been corresponding for two months now on a regular basis, sharing mostly silly and insignificant events like the time she almost walked in the male restroom or his favorite pizza made by the Italian couple from his pre-incarceration days.
Sometimes, they would talk about serious things, like his past and his regrets. He even told her about Ella Davenport. He wrote:
It reminded me of Mama. She was screaming as that woman had. They had that same look. I tried erasing her memory. But what I erased was that woman’s life.
Her response spoke of sincerity. He could hear her saying them, over and over like a lullaby.
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From once a week, the letters came every other week. The content didn’t satisfy either of them as it had initially. She knew it. His choice of words spoke it.
Not to mention being scolded by her younger sister.
“You’re exchanging letters with a prisoner, huh?” said Kate. She was reading Andrew’s latest reply. Melissa snatched it forcefully from her sister’s hands.
A curse stumbled from her lips. “Don’t mess with my things, especially my letters,” Melissa said hotly, “Have you ever heard of privacy?”
Kate is stunned from her sister’s unnatural reaction.
“And, don’t judge people when you don’t know them,” she added.
Melissa was on her way to the second floor when she heard Kate ask her, “Are you sure you even know the guy you’re writing? He’s in prison so he must have done horrible things. Aren’t you afraid that he might be lying to you? If he escapes, he might find you and do… things to you?”
Wordlessly, Melissa continued her trek. Kate has a point.
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It’s the seventh Monday since her last letter. He is aware that their letters were not as eager as before, but to end without notice was harsh. He read her latest reply. Nothing indicated farewells or anything wrong. It was just a casual letter telling him that she found an interesting title in the library.
He had been holding back a few weeks ago, but now, his newly-admitted dependency to her drove him to write again.
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Dear Melissa,
Are you tired of conversing like this?
Andrew
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Andrew spent his day working out. He had been feeling under the weather for the past week.
She still hadn’t replied.
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“Castell, you have a visitor,” announced the warden.
That’s a surprise. The last time he was visited was five years ago.
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A girl with long wavy red hair and green eyes sat behind the glass partition.
“Hello,” she greeted.
He never expected this, not even in his imagination.
He stuttered, “A-are you… Melissa?”
As she smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkled.
“Yes.”
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Between them, silence ruled. She had never thought that she would be able to do this, meet up with a stranger she had been exchanging a few pages with. Moreover, he’s convicted of a crime.
“I’m sorry if I haven’t been writing you. I’d like to surprise you,” she said.
The man behind the partition was unlike the picture from the website. Instead of being lanky and half-bald, he had auburn hair, brown eyes, and a fit body.
“Thank you,” he said. A slow smile spread his lips. “I haven’t been visited for a long time. It felt good… having a visitor again.”
They had a casual talk, mostly about her trip to Hillside since she was a couple of towns away. He listened and shared what he did during the days they haven’t communicated.
The guard told them that time is almost up.
They said their goodbyes.
“Thank you again,” he said, “You’ve given me something I never thought I’d have. Not after all those unspeakable things I’ve done.”
She smiled again. “Don’t mention it.”
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After a week, there had been two letters from Hillside Penitentiary. Melissa sensed something odd.
She opened the first envelope, Andrew’s letter to her.
Dear Melissa,
Do you believe in psychic powers? It must be weird coming from me, but I do believe in them. I believe in intuition.
If ever what I’m sensing is true, I would like to express my gratitude to you before anything happens. For being a special friend, a counselor, an eye to the world I would never see again. Thank you for giving me these feelings that I have. I don’t really understand them, but this… admiration I have for you changed a part of me. It isn’t something revolutionary, but it sure had made an impact in my life.
I’ll end it here before it gets too corny. Haha.
Sincerely,
Andrew
Bad news was coming in; Kate was its herald. “Melissa, there had been a lockdown at Hillside Penitentiary a couple of days ago, and...”
It was a confirmation of that odd feeling. Fat teardrops fell. Kate wound her arms around her sister.
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The other letter was left unopened for the mean time.