I write this from my prison cell. Yes we are allowed books and pens like in the movies, well at least in my ward. I hear there are wards where pens are not allowed because prisoners use them as you would a pocket knife if you were a thief.
They say I should have waited to turn myself in but the guilt was too much. Besides, I was ready to pay for my sins and the police was being awfully slow in finding me or maybe they were just too scared of me because I am an important person to this country. So I walked myself to them and confessed.
It has only been three days in prison but I swear it feels like 300 years. Time drags in here. I have not been bullied yet but I expect it could happen anytime. I always thought looking through the bars of a prison cell was ‘patriotic’. I had never thought about how dirty and sticky the bars would be. So there I was looking through those dirty bars pretending to be a revered prisoner like Nelson Mandela, when the tap which later turned into a rude poke arrived.
I turn around and I am met with 20 sets of eyes. Most of them angry, others bored but all of them expectant. I did not know what this was about so I looked around and then waited. When nothing happened, I slowly began to turn back to my patriotic bars.
“Sit yass down child and tell this honourable house why you are in here”.
I turned around again, hoping that none of them would recognise me. You see, my case had been on social media for about a month. My loud mouthed victim came out in front of anything that could record to tell what I had done to her. I blame myself in all this. Not for what I did but for choosing the wrong victim.
The voice that had spoken at first suddenly materialised from the back to where I was in form of a yellow-skinned man. I knew him. He was the very man social media had crucified for crying out in forged Italian when he was accused of being a sexpest who reportedly enticed underage slay queens to his bed.
“What is your crime?” he repeated.
“I used a bad and black lady of the night and refused to pay,” I answered shamefully.
“Why?” he asked.
Inching away from him, because I expected an Italian slap, I replied, “Me I thought that since we are in Covid, things be for free in the spirit of patriotism.”