4 views
Deranged From Birth (Chapter One)
The walls feel like they're closing in around me. Not an entirely new sensation, but after six long years you'd think it was a sensation I'd eventually get used to. Did you ever get used to it though? Especially if you shouldn't be here.
HMP Perth.
Her Majesty's Pleasure.
Prison.
A home away from home.
Six long years of feeling trapped inside the same four walls. A cell barely big enough for one, let alone big enough to be shared with another person. My cell mate was huge too. As wide as he was tall. His mere presence in our shared accommodation seemed to take up three quarters of it.
A lot of the time I struggled to breathe. Claustrophobia and panic attacks. Not that I'm mental or anything. At least I don't think I am. I've never had one of those special doctors tell me so anyway. I just don't like small spaces. Especially small spaces feeling trapped alongside society's worst people. Murderers, rapists, druggies. You name it, this building is full of them. Monsters. Each and every one of them. Monsters all carrying their own personal demons. Not me though. I'm here by accident.
Now before I carry on, it might say on my criminal record that I'm a murderer, but I'm not. It wasn't me. I didn't do it. God's honest truth. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It happens. Probably more than you think, although probably considerably less often than hearing a convicted prisoner tell you they didn't do it, when it's clear as day that they did. My situation is different though. The evidence, or should I say lack of it, proves so. I was set up. First by the police and that bastard who arrested me, Angus something or other, then by the judicial system.
My solicitor wasn't much help either. He kept telling me to avoid comment during interviews, so I didn't implicate myself by admitting my guilt to a crime I didn't commit. People have a tendency to collapse under pressure. Apparently. Admitting to all sorts of things they didn't do. So that's what I did. No comment. All the way. Not that it did me much good. There's only so many times you can say, "no comment," before you look guilty. Even if you aren't.
Now I know what you're thinking. I wouldn't have been found guilty in a court of law if there was no evidence. That's true. It's not that there was no evidence at all, it just means that the only evidence available to the police and the court proved that I had been at the scene. Unfortunately for me, there was absolutely no evidence to prove that anybody else had been there at the same time. So by the power of deduction it had to have been me. It was a high profile case, and there needed to be a result. So yours truly had to pay the price. Bastards. Six long years.
I know how it looks. I was caught red handed at the scene of the crime, and I'm just trying to clear my conscience and my name, but that's simply not true. If I was guilty I would admit so. I'm an honourable man. Always have been, always will be. Anyway I'm out tomorrow. A free man. One more night in this place, then it's time to set things straight. Get my life back in order.
Find somewhere to live.
Hopefully land a job, somewhere.
Get some money.
Fix the relationships with my wife and the kids.
That last one is the most important, and the one that hurt the most. I can handle losing my job, or the roof over my head, but not having the people you love most, pay you a visit, kills you. Not one single visit in six years. Although I don't blame them. As far as they're concerned I'm a villain. Of the worst kind. Well that's not entirely true. There was a brief time when my wife believed me, but as soon as I was found guilty, she was gone. No more phone calls. No more letters. No second chances. Dead to her.
As far as she was concerned I was Douglas Campbell, former husband, convicted criminal. Murderer. The fact I had been wrongly convicted didn't fit into the equation. She just couldn't see that the police and a jury had both got it wrong. But they had. I'll prove it.
Anyway, like I said, tomorrow I get out. The chance to rebuild my life. The chance to clear my name. Something I have to face on a clear head, so for now it's best that I put the pen down and get some sleep. Not that you ever get much in this place. You understand? How can you sleep the night away surrounded by monsters? Especially when you're not one. The odd one out. Placed into a Hell to which you don't belong.
© Ashley (urb4npo3t)
HMP Perth.
Her Majesty's Pleasure.
Prison.
A home away from home.
Six long years of feeling trapped inside the same four walls. A cell barely big enough for one, let alone big enough to be shared with another person. My cell mate was huge too. As wide as he was tall. His mere presence in our shared accommodation seemed to take up three quarters of it.
A lot of the time I struggled to breathe. Claustrophobia and panic attacks. Not that I'm mental or anything. At least I don't think I am. I've never had one of those special doctors tell me so anyway. I just don't like small spaces. Especially small spaces feeling trapped alongside society's worst people. Murderers, rapists, druggies. You name it, this building is full of them. Monsters. Each and every one of them. Monsters all carrying their own personal demons. Not me though. I'm here by accident.
Now before I carry on, it might say on my criminal record that I'm a murderer, but I'm not. It wasn't me. I didn't do it. God's honest truth. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It happens. Probably more than you think, although probably considerably less often than hearing a convicted prisoner tell you they didn't do it, when it's clear as day that they did. My situation is different though. The evidence, or should I say lack of it, proves so. I was set up. First by the police and that bastard who arrested me, Angus something or other, then by the judicial system.
My solicitor wasn't much help either. He kept telling me to avoid comment during interviews, so I didn't implicate myself by admitting my guilt to a crime I didn't commit. People have a tendency to collapse under pressure. Apparently. Admitting to all sorts of things they didn't do. So that's what I did. No comment. All the way. Not that it did me much good. There's only so many times you can say, "no comment," before you look guilty. Even if you aren't.
Now I know what you're thinking. I wouldn't have been found guilty in a court of law if there was no evidence. That's true. It's not that there was no evidence at all, it just means that the only evidence available to the police and the court proved that I had been at the scene. Unfortunately for me, there was absolutely no evidence to prove that anybody else had been there at the same time. So by the power of deduction it had to have been me. It was a high profile case, and there needed to be a result. So yours truly had to pay the price. Bastards. Six long years.
I know how it looks. I was caught red handed at the scene of the crime, and I'm just trying to clear my conscience and my name, but that's simply not true. If I was guilty I would admit so. I'm an honourable man. Always have been, always will be. Anyway I'm out tomorrow. A free man. One more night in this place, then it's time to set things straight. Get my life back in order.
Find somewhere to live.
Hopefully land a job, somewhere.
Get some money.
Fix the relationships with my wife and the kids.
That last one is the most important, and the one that hurt the most. I can handle losing my job, or the roof over my head, but not having the people you love most, pay you a visit, kills you. Not one single visit in six years. Although I don't blame them. As far as they're concerned I'm a villain. Of the worst kind. Well that's not entirely true. There was a brief time when my wife believed me, but as soon as I was found guilty, she was gone. No more phone calls. No more letters. No second chances. Dead to her.
As far as she was concerned I was Douglas Campbell, former husband, convicted criminal. Murderer. The fact I had been wrongly convicted didn't fit into the equation. She just couldn't see that the police and a jury had both got it wrong. But they had. I'll prove it.
Anyway, like I said, tomorrow I get out. The chance to rebuild my life. The chance to clear my name. Something I have to face on a clear head, so for now it's best that I put the pen down and get some sleep. Not that you ever get much in this place. You understand? How can you sleep the night away surrounded by monsters? Especially when you're not one. The odd one out. Placed into a Hell to which you don't belong.
© Ashley (urb4npo3t)
Related Stories
