NEW ARRIVAL
Chandler stepped out of the police car. The police officers escorted him into the giant bleak cement compound. The concrete walls towered over him, and the tops were laced with spindles of barbed wire. As he was escorted into the correctional facility courtyard, hoards of men dressed bright orange jumpsuits clamoured around him, fighting to get a closer look. They jeered, wolf-whistled and called out to him.
"Haha! Looky looky, what have we here? A new arrival! What did you do?"
Chandler shrank against the unwanted attention. The police officers shooed away prisoners that stepped too close. They brought him into the security check-in centre, where he was told to fill out a pile of paperwork. Chandler filled it in, his palms sweaty. This was a completely different ballgame from his last arrest. During his last arrest, he had been chucked unceremoniously, into a small local county cell. It was the kind of place for petty criminals, like drunks and shoplifters. This place, was entirely different. It was all formalities and red tape.
It made him feel like a legit criminal. After Chandler filled out numerous forms, prison guards ran an electronic beeper over his body to check for metal weapons. Once he was cleared, a guard handed Chandler a neat pile of folded orange clothes. Two sets of orange jumpsuits, an orange jacket, and a pair of white canvas shoes. Chandler had a feeling he was going to hate the colour orange. Chandler changed into his prison outfit.
"We'll escort you to your cell now, which you'll share with two other cellmates. We're pretty relaxed here. So long as you follow the rules, stick with the timetable, you'll have access to books, exercise, television and decent meals three times a day. We even provide all prisoners with free education, courtesy of taxpayers' money. You can learn anything, from art, to maths. The doors to your cell remain unlocked between 8 am to 8 pm. During those times, you're free to roam around the correctional facility. Like I said, we're pretty relaxed here. Lights go out at 8.30 pm."
The guard led Chandler into the heart of the correctional facility. Rows upon rows of prisoners lay languidly on bunk beds, reading, napping or chatting. The guard stopped in front of a cell. It was starkly white, with two metal bunk beds, a tiny sink and toilet.
"Well, here we are; your cell. Eric, Lucas, say hello to your new cellmate, Chandler." Eric was a young, large beefy red-faced guy with a shock of blonde hair.
"Chan-Lar? Sounds like a f-ggot's name," he smirked. Chandler cringed, and silently resented his father for giving him such an embarrassing name.
"Be nice," the guard warned. Lucas was a thin pale, bespectacled man in his early forties. He appraised Chandler coolly.
The guard gently pushed Chandler into the cell, "make friends, Chandler."
Sitting down on a bunk bed, Chandler glanced around the claustrophobic cluttered cell, his heart drumming with anxiety. Staring at his hands, he avoided eye contact with Eric and Lucas; desperately counting the minutes till Monica would arrive to visit him. Something told him fitting in this cold cement facility with these hardened criminals was going to be a difficult task; it was just a cold nagging foreboding sitting in the pit of his stomach. Eric leered at Chandler, revealing a set of poorly cared for teeth.
"You shy, Chan-lar?"