Summary: "Those next six months? You don't want to know about what happened then…" A look at explaining what did happen, a year after Charlie's first substantial solitary confinement began. Starts at the first six months and ends with his return to Gen. Pop.
Disclaimer: Not mine. I just play with the characters.
Rating: T
The walk to the SHU was long, and surprisingly painful. This time Charlie knew that he wasn't going to get out in a matter of weeks or months. This time his stay was indefinite, and there was nothing he could do about it but sit and wait it out. They took apart his cell in the general population, and then dragged him out with it – something to do with his frequent causing of fights, especially the most recent one which had taken place not a day previously. They read out their asinine reasons for putting him into the SHU, which were the same for most of the inmates going in who weren't involved with gangs.
"Causing a riot, reckless endangerment of inmate health, destruction of prison property…" The Warden read the list out, and then looked at Charlie. "You're not getting out of there for a long time, cop."
They were walking through the blank, white walls of the SHU now, every step taking Charlie closer to his endless torment of total isolation. Before his time in prison, Charlie thought that Secure Housing was a good idea, a good method of dealing with troublesome inmates. Now? Now he thought it was Hell. Every day was the same, never ending torment as the last, and it never got any better. There was nothing to do, no way to occupy his mind. There was nothing at all.
They brought him through the processing room, outfitting him with a new set of clothes after pulling him out of the shower. Cuffing him back up (at the ankles and wrists) they walked him through the pod towards his new home for the unforeseeable future. This was it.
"Inmate, get inside the cell." The guard said as he undid the cuffs on Charlie's ankles.
Charlie complied, walking in before standing with his hands through the slot in the door, preparing for them to then remove the handcuffs. As they did it, he felt the last meagre remnant of hope leave his body. This was certain, this was sure. This was for real. After they removed the cuffs, they rechecked the locks and moved away. Charlie turned around, examining his cell. The small box contained only a bed built into the wall, and a steel toilet. The bed was a flimsy green plastic mattress with no pillow, and not large enough for him to lie straight on. The fluorescent lights flickered, constantly dimming, and he had no control over their settings. The hardest part was about to begin.