My name is Jean Valjean. I am here because I tried to feed the mouths of my family. It is cold, crowded, and wet here. All are miserable, and all are sick. Some here have murdered. They dream of it, calling out the last breath of their victim, dieing alone in this wretched place. The others, they have done little, like me. One of us in this cell, Leon Reynaud, was merely visiting a friend one night and was arrested for this. Today he will be executed in the place of another, who has paid off a guard to help him escape.
It will be no big loss to this damp cell, which I think will soon be my own. Another of us is to face the guillotine in three days time. The third will escape soon. He is clever in such a way. If I could find some way to escape this horrible place I should be off in good time, taking with me this brutal hate for society and those infuriating idealists that have taken over our time. "Hail the Emperor" they say. Pshaw. Down with the emperor I say! Down with any man who could build up a kingdom and knock it back over with childish dislikes. Any man who could put an innocent trying to feed his family into this hell-hole should be executed. The hate that one man, such as me, can feel for this society I was born in to is unbelievable! And for the guards, who are supposed to protect us, but who turn and help convicts escape for money, even kill for the idea of it!
So here we are, rotting in an old cell, praying for one little glimpse of light, one little piece of food, while the Kings and Emperors are in their castles and palaces enjoying their meat and their cakes. Let them do this, and never have a care about anyone else in this world who works, who has mouths to feed and crops to grow. In the end, when their kingdoms fall, they will be no one, in no where, with nothing. They will die, and we of the bourgeoisie will be standing by watching them fall.
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I am now alone, with only the rats and the sound of dirty water dripping off the walls to keep me company. This way, I can exercise, practice scaling walls, and practice hiding for my escape. I know they will be putting more prisoners in the cell with me, for one man cannot live alone long in this place. When one man goes, he is replaced by two. The guards want more money, and will do all they can to get it. Those fools will be allowed to do this to the end of their days in this prison. And they will live, unlike us.
Most of us here are doomed to die. Others of us here will do all they can to stop death from coming. Those kinds of us are ruthless, caring not about money, but survival. Only the strongest of us here can live, can eat, can drink, and can be feared. You have to find means to make a name for yourself as quickly as possible, or you have nothing. Upon my arrival, I was too weak to fight for my food for days, only managing to steal some from the rats scrambling by with there little bits. I was too disgusted by the prospect to eat live rats, at first, that I would allow them to run all over me. That, though, has changed. They are a prisoner's food when that prisoner has none, and the dripping water is their drink. These are the rules of survival, when it is warm.
I have found, over my seven years here, that when it becomes cold, you either harden yourself or you die. These cells contain little; with only hay has one's bed. This hay is replaced every week, if you have the means to make it that way. In the winter, you must cover yourself in it, and you must stay away from any water. This water, if it lands on you, freezes on your skin, its cold seeping into you. Limbs turn red, then blue. Fingers and toes freeze, fall off, and even rot. This place that our society has put us in is wretched and deadly. There is no happiness, no sadness. There is only hate and anger. When one lives this life long enough, they find ways to hate society, and ways to hate themselves. If not careful, people here drive themselves to madness, which is a frightening thing to happen, but an incredible thing to watch. The acts of the human mind are amazing. First you see the disease in their eyes. They look wild, and untamed. Shortly after, they mutter to themselves, saying things of nonsense. Then they attack themselves, ripping their own skin apart, doing anything they can to die. So horrible is this madness, that they are sent to the guillotine, whether sentenced to death or not.
This is the life led by a convict. No "royalty" could ever survive a day of it, not even the hardest built king. So they send us to live it, no matter how guilty or innocent.
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So many people here have nightmares. I hear them at night, moaning, screaming, and thrashing in horror. They try not to let it bother them, but I hear them pacing and mumbling to themselves. They will be gone soon.
These people were once sane, were once stable and happy, but look at them now! Our "great and loving" ruler has done this to them. Criminals are not treated justly. The poor are not treated justly. This world we live in goes downhill with every passing day, with every decision made by our wonderful King. Any potential France has is going down the gutters, to join the rats. Not only does the world go downhill, but so does my hope of surviving here. I must stay strong, but it is so hard not to wonder what is happening outside, and what is happening with the children I have left without food. For this I can only assume that the worst has happened. Therefore, I can only continue on as I have been doing, and must forget any thoughts of the outside world. I can only pretend that there is no world outside of this place of terror. This is easy for me only because I know that there is nothing out there for me. When I get out of this jail, I will have no one and nothing. I will go only to be arrested again. I must find a way to make something of myself. I will need money, and to have money, I must either earn it or steal it. Earning it would take time, which is something I will have little of. I must steal, and steal plenty. Something expensive must fall into my hands. A ring, possibly, or a necklace. It would not be such a hard thing to get. Just a tug on a chain from a lady's neck and a necklace would be waiting to be sold.
There are so many ways for a man to make money, when he puts his mind to it. Yet looks what some years in a cell have done! An innocent man has been turned into a thief at the thought of easy money, as the emperor must. It is, after all, his fault that this land has become what it is. He should be subject to this cold, this dank, this ridicule! He is the real criminal.
Justice will one day be served, and this land will again be powerful when it is.
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The cold has taken its toll on me. I am getting sick, I believe. I wake up at night covered in sweat, with my body constantly shaking. It is frightening, not knowing what is happening to you like this. I believe the guards have done something to my food. They do not like me, I know. They talk about me, laughing and glaring. This could be the end for me.
I must find a way out.
There has to be some sort of crack in the wall to escape from. Or some sort of weapon with which I could kill a guard, and replace myself with him. Perhaps I could convince another of us to pay for my way out, even for our way out. There must be at least one of us who has enough money to do this. The guards are easy enough to persuade, when there is silver involved.
Ah! What a man I have become, speaking of sly trickery and bribing! I am now no better than those men who call themselves just and honest while stealing the money and food of their neighbors.
It is this harsh life that has given me these thoughts. Should I live to leave this place, I will be nothing more than the criminal that I have been named.
This is what the government has done to me and this is what they are.