Date: Still think its sometime in May.
Location: N/A
Prison food, truly something which does not earn its title, for this colorless disgusting slop of nutrients that I'm eating right now as I write, is most definitely not food by even my most liberal sense, it is merely substance I must eat in order to survive. This brings to mind a few old sayings, one that I feel is the most appropriate being, 'Hunger is the best seasoning,' One would be surprised what can consider good when pressed in certain extreme circumstances. I knew I had reached such a point when I started to eat my meal and realized two things, one that I still had my appetite after seeing it, and two that I could tell that the chef had thrown a bit of salt and pepper into to it and I was genuinely grateful for it. I have been confined here for so long that I am starting to forget what such meals as steak, bacon and eggs, and French toast taste or smell like. I see them in my mind, looking as delicious as anything I've ever seen in my life but the memories of the smells, the taste and feel of them in mouth as I chew and swallow, fades away like an shadow in the face of the rising sun. Now all foods tastes like the same camel vomit I am given each day to eat. The smell alone drove me to vomit the first time I set eyes on it.
Some would say that being driven to eat such food is robbing us of our humanity. I would argue against that, I say eating such disgusting food is proof that you still have a desire to live; despite the saying people are more than what they eat. What separates us from animals is more than just what we choose to eat, it's who we are, what we choose and our capacity to choose. Our desire to live to fulfill our purpose, fate, call it what you will we humans have something we live for, in the end are willing to die for. I find it strange though that I continue this struggle to live yet I can see no purpose to do so. I suppose if I must say so I live because I believe I'll find a new purpose. I do not feel a need for vengeance or to avenge, I do not seem to feel anything really, yet there is anticipation, for what I don't know but I feel as though something is coming and I can't wait to find out what it is. Though that is neither here nor there at the moment, what is here is the same sort of slop I eat every day, as I chew what hard parts there are, I looking from my cell across the inside of the prison. Hundreds of cells, each one holding some person, some are murders, some stole, others ran from the duties that were given them and list goes on. The guards walk around, along the walkways, silent save for when they beat a prisoner for acting out (whether he actually did or not). Taking another bite of my meal I wonder what the guards get to eat every day, and can't help but smirk. If I had to eat anything like this while keeping watch of prisoners, I would be quite pissed myself. Taking a drink of some lukewarm (but clean) water I set into the last bit of my meal.
"Bottoms Up,"