And lastly her dignity is taken away by physical abuse and sexual molestation. I sit quietly in my cell. Walls of cement surround this small place. My attire is freshly starched, a tee shirt and blue jeans. It has been years since I've seen the inside of a church, laid on a soft bed, or step in the yard in front of my last home.
Some days are hot, others are cold.
My eyes have felt the sting of tears, and my heart has familiarized itself with the pain of remorsefulness. Once a day I am allowed to leave the building to obtain fresh air and physical exercise outside in the courtyard. The air dries the sweat from the private parts of my body, and the musty smell of my cell vanishes in the wind. There are no dreams to rescue me from this hell hole they call prison. Female mosquitoes suck my blood, flies buzz around my head, and my breath smells of prune, wine made from sour fruits and sugar.