#tw prison

whumpee stumbles into their cell, barely aware of the hands that shove them onto the cold stone. carewhumpee is sound asleep on their side of the cell— it's a rarity to see them truly knocked out, only the rise and fall of their chest distinguishing death and deep sleep.

it's not all that uncommon, other inmates passing away whilst out to the world. someone might get a little too handsy, a rib puncturing an organ— or plain old untreated pneumonia, amongst many other afflictions. lives down here are as expendable as they come, and it's in your best interest that you start hoping for death by the first night in this hellhole. being a little too different, in any form or manner, well.

their lips are still shut together. the right side of the cell was empty for months, before carewhumpee. like a reminder, the fear buzzes— constant and steady. always, always, always— death will be better than whatever fate those inmates have in store.

they stopped fighting long, long ago.

whumpee sits down on their side, their eyes trailing the multitude of bruises, burns, gashes littering carewhumpee's skin illuminated by the dim light coming from the corridor. everytime carewhumpee leaves, whumpee feels like they can barely breathe. they lash out at every possible opportunity, refuse to give up, bleed and bleed and bleed and then spit blood in the guards' faces.

it's no wonder that even after nearly fifteen days past their arrival they haven't been given a blanket. just being in carewhumpee's vicinity is dangerous— their eyes are too wide and their grin is too sharp. their words are too kind, and they've never really starved. they spell trouble with a capital T. it shows, in every inch of carewhumpee's demeanor, that they don't even entertain the idea of giving up yet, when anyone else might have been grovelling at whumper's feet by now.

whumpee know they'll end up being one of the special ones. but that would mean that carewhumpee will leave, and they won't be able to share their part of the meal, wrap their more bloody wounds up, or just talk and talk and talk to them— chasing the unending silence away. it's a relief, to be able to hear something other than their screams and whumper's incessant taunts.

they really, really don't want carewhumpee to go. this is a secret they hide firmly behind their ribcage, and even if one of the guards were to break it open, it would be lost in their blood and viscera. it's invisible and impossible and a death sentence. forming attachments here has never served anybody anything good.

but carewhumpee's eyes have been feverish as of late, crazed and out of their mind as whumper continues to lay into them. life seems to be draining out of them drop by drop, and so.

so, whumpee can't help but crawl over to carewhumpee's side, placing the antibiotic in their mouth, tilting their neck up and rubbing at their throat until they swallow. whumper seems to have truly tired them out, as they don't even twitch as they settle back. whumpee couldn't have given them this with them awake, though. too risky.

CW: Fist fight, electrocution, cuffed

Whumpee groaned as they were slammed into a wall for the third time since being arrested, their cheek scraping the stone. The guard twisted their arm behind them, cuffing their hands together once more. 

  “Stop your whining and come with me,” the guard spat in their ear. 

  Whumpee suppressed a mutter about not having much choice and let the guard drag them by the arm down to a holding cell; it was cramped, with a single cracked strip light hovering over it, a metal toilet and sink in one corner and a double-decker bunk flush against one wall, making the space even smaller. 

  The guard shoved Whumpee forwards roughly, unlocking their cuffs and turning to go. Whumpee seized their chance. 

  They leapt at them, kicking out at the back of the guard’s knees, making one crumple. The guard turned haphazardly, expression twisted into rage, but Whumpee didn’t stop to let them catch their breath. They lunged forward, landing a punch on their nose with a crack, and anywhere else they could find. 

  They were so caught up in their fervour that they didn’t notice the guard reach into their pocket. 

  Suddenly, Whumpee cried out as a jolt of agony ripped through their stomach, forcing them to collapse. The guard brought back the taser and stood over Whumpee, holding their bleeding nose. 

  “You son of a bitch. After that, I wouldn’t expect they let you off as easy as they were going to. So congratulations on your extended sentence, little shit. I’m sure it won’t be worth it.”

  They punctuated the last sentence with a hard steel-toed kick to Whumpee’s ribs, then turned on their heel and left, the sound of the cell door locking ringing out like a death knoll. 

  Whumpee stayed on the ground, trying to breathe through the pain in their ribs as well as the residual echoes from the taser. When suddenly they heard a voice. 

  “Well that was eventful.”

He's not sending anyone home to their country of origin, he's sending them to Central & Latin American prison camps and Guantanamo Bay.

That isn't "deportation."

It's just regular old human trafficking. They aren't being "deported", they are being enslaved.

Most of these people have never been charged nor convicted of any crime. The government just pointed a finger at them and called them gang members and terrorists. And now they're gone.

restorative/transformative justice be like: lets address crime before it happens and treat people humanely

Ah..! That is,,, so cute,,, 😬

I am sneaking my phone right now in my isolation cell, would you like to see it?

My cousin was a drug dealer by association. He was a young teenager in a very bad place, struggling with addiction. He got involved with a bunch of adults who used him as a scapegoat. He’s now in prison quite literally for life. His sentence started out around the 98 year mark. It’s gone down a few years but it won’t matter. He’s in his forties now. He went in as a teenager. Like, let that fucking sink in. My family has done everything in their power and there’s no getting him out. They barely allowed him a retrial when I was a teen.