"Well, there you are, little bastard."

Snufkin jerked awake and was met by two hemulens standing right over him. One of them he recognised. It was the guard he had kicked the day before. The other was a police inspector.

How, how on earth had they found him here? How?

"Let's see", the hemulen inspector said, arms crossed. "Disorderly conduct, abuse of staff and arson. That'll be approximately two years in prison."

Snufkin swallowed. He stopped breathing. Two years in prison? Two whole years? Sure, he knew he had managed to escape a prison before, it wasn't as if he dared to count on that every single time. After all, he didn't know where they would take him. What kind of prison it would be.

He was yanked by the collar and pulled to his feet. Before Snufkin had had a chance to collect himself enough to react, he was stripped of his backpack and after that the inspector grabbed his arms and cuffed them behind his back.

"I arrest you on those crimes which I just mentioned. You may speak if you wish, but bear in mind that everything you say might be held against you."

"I… I didn't do any of those things", Snufkin managed to say. It wasn't entirely true, but the truth had obviously been twisted to look bad in his favor.

"Ha! Try as you might. We have a whole bunch of witnesses who claim they saw you put the major's garden on fire. The same goes for the mentioned abuse and disturbing mrs Hemulen and her orphans."

"She beat those orphans! What I did to her was nothing!" Snufkin snarled.

"Yeah yeah, we'll see about that." The inspector turned to the guard:

"Open the bag and turn the bag upside down. Look for any thefts."

"Don't tire your eyes", muttered Snufkin, and got a merciless shake. The guard did as he was told and poured out all content from the backpack. Out fell the paper bag of buns, the old saucepan, a spoon and a fork, matches, a beautiful seashell from the last summer in Moominvalley, a coffee cup, a blanket, a jar of honey and other small boxes and bags of saved food and nourishments.

The guard and the inspector looked almost disappointed and that pleased Snufkin just a tiny bit in the face of his otherwise poor prospects. At the very least he didn't give them the satisfaction of being a thief.

"Seems to be nothing here", said the guard in a boring tone and turned away from the stuff spread out on the ground.

The inspector snorted, then responded with a nod towards Snufkin.

"Alright, take him."

The guard stepped forward, bent down and took a firm grip around Snufkin's legs, and threw him over his shoulder.

His old, beloved green hat fell off. Snufkin watched it land on the ground by the bush he had been sleeping in.

"My hat!" he cried, but was met with dry laughter.

"You won't be needing that now", the inspector scoffed.

"No", the guard chimed in. "In prison you'll be given new clothes, be sure of that."

Snufkin's eyes widened in horror. New clothes? Prisoner clothes? That was new. That hadn't happened before. It scared him. What would happen to his old, ragged, comfortable garments? Would they throw them away? His harmonica which lied in his right pocket, would they take that too? Would they take everything and throw it away, just like his hat and the backpack and way the threw around with him? And what if he couldn't break out this time?

He stared helplessly at his hat as he was being carried off. Soon it looked like nothing more than a little green spot of fabric and then it was gone. Snufkin felt like crying, but he couldn't do that. Not in front of these… fools. He refused to call them anything else because that's what they were. Fools. There. Simple.

"I can walk by myself", he grunted..

"No, can't risk you running off again, can we?" the guard tightened his grip around his legs and in doing so, restraining Snufkin's movement completely.

They carried him back to town, although not the same way they had come and thankfully there weren't many people around as they crossed the streets, finally ending up outside a big stone building. Snufkin couldn't see it until they let him down just outside the door though, having been hung over the guard's shoulder all along. There, the guard took off and left Snufkin alone with the inspector. The inspector held him by the cuffs and unlocked the door. Inside that door there was another door and then another… each had different kinds of locks, Snufkin noticed. It felt useless trying to argue now. They had already made up their mind. Decided that he was guilty. So he obediently followed, all small and quiet. His wrists hurt.

As soon as they entered, it was immediately colder. In front of them was a square shaped, grey reception with a grey-clad fillyjonk sitting behind. She looked up from her papers at the sight of them and Snufkin noted the little cloud of dust that fell from her hat.

"Well, what have we here? Trial?"

"No", said the inspector.

"Ah, first door then. Here are the papers."

She handed over some papers and a pen. The inspector hummed to himself and began filling out the forms. Of what, Snufkin had no idea but he suspected that it had to do with him.

"I need you to write your name at the top."

Snufkin looked up in surprise and the inspector looked down at him, seeming annoyed for no apparent reason. He undid the cuffs and Snufkin was able to inspect his hands for a second. His wrists were raw and sore. Since the desk were rather high for being a desk, he couldn't quite reach enough to see what he were doing. As if frustrated by this, the inspector sighed and lifted him under the armpits.

"There", the fillyjonk pointed at a spot at the top corner of the paper. Reluctantly Snufkin took the pen and eyed through the document the inspector had been filling out:

Prisoner number: 135

Name:

Species: mumrik.

Accused of: Arson, Disorderly conduct upon civils, Abuse of the major's staff.

Found: Guilty on all crimes above.

Sentence: Prison for two years.

Was that supposed to be him? Arson? Disorderly conduct? Number 135…

"Come on! We haven't got all day!" the inspector's voice rang.

"I'm not guilty", Snufkin found himself saying. He realized he was shaking so badly he barely managed to hold the pen.

"None of you ever is", responded the hemulen. "Now, write your name."

"But this is not me. I told you about the old hemulen! And I only kicked the guard because he wouldn't let me go and he had no right to hold me back-" He had started a rant without thinking. Slowly but surely, fear had began to settle inside him and it didn't help that all while saying these things, he was still being held by the armpits, feet not even touching the floor.

"Quiet!" the inspector thundered. He pointed to the paper. "Just write your name!"

Snufkin didn't.

"Right then. Tell me your name and I'll write it for you."

"There's always the species and number", the fillyjonk cut in. "His name isn't really that important as long as we know those two things."

"Yeah", the inspector agreed. "You're right. I'll add the name later."

With the paper in one hand and a grip on Snufkin with the other, he lead the way to a heavy, grey door.

"Where are we going ?" Snufkin asked. In the other prison he had once been in, they had practically just threw him into a cell and that was it. This establishment however, seemed to be more complex. It worried him to no end that he didn't know at all what to expect behind that door. But he'd have to wait and see what the cell looked like until he gave up the possibility of escaping.

"We're going to the photographer", said the inspector and unlocked the door.

So many locks…

They were met by a white, clear light in a room that was completely white, except for the furniture. Against one wall there were several box looking things, standing next to one another. All in white and of different size. In front of the white boxes was a camera ready on a high stand and behind it, a hemulen. He was obviously doing something with the camera, pressing buttons here and there and mumbling a little to himself while doing so. But when the inspector came with Snufkin, he abruptly stopped and looked up. He wore glasses and white clothing, like a doctor.

The inspector handed over the papers and the photographer went and did something behind his desk in the other end of the room. Soon there was the sound of a printer and then the photographer returned. He gave Snufkin a small tablet with his number, name of species and the date, then ordered him to stand by the boxes against the wall.

"They are for smaller creatures", the hemulen explained and placed himself behind the camera again. "You're tall enough. You'll stand on the floor. Hold the tablet in front of you and look into the camera."

Snufkin obeyed. There was a bright flash and he blinked.

"And now, in profile.."

Snufkin did as he was told and there was another flash. It felt weird. Everything felt weird. Why were they taking photos of him like this? He had heard about it somewhere, but just vaguely; about prisoners being photographed. A sort of modern method. But he didn't know why.

He was grabbed by the shoulders again as the inspector started leading him towards a new door with a new lock. They stepped once more into the same greyness as the reception, but this time they faced many shelves filled with what looked like piles of yellow and red fabric. There was a small reception and, of course, another hemulen. The hemulen took one look at Snufkin from head to bottom, and then turned around. From the shelves he picked a pile of red and yellow fabric and Snufkin could now see that it was not merely fabric, but some kind of clothes. At once he was horrified. He didn't want to change. His old ragged clothes was all he had left now when his hat and backpack and freedom was gone. He couldn't change his clothes too. And why would he have to do that, anyway? They could lock him in just as fine with him wearing sin own clothes, for goodness sake!

The inspector took the pile and handed it to Snufkin with one word:

"Change."

He didn't offer any sort of cover. He simply asked him to change right then and there, in front of the two strange hemulens.

But Snufkin didn't lift a finger to receive the pile. He just stood there like frozen to the floor.

"I can have my own clothes", he said as confidently as he could muster, but felt his paws trembling and a shiver went down his spine, screaming with red flags throughout his entire body.

"No", the inspector said coldly. "In here you wear this, like all other prisoners."

"But why?"

"Because that way, it's much easier for us to keep an eye on you lot. Now, change!"

Snufkin stared at the red clothes with yellow stripes that lay in the inspector's paw and couldn't bring himself to take them. A small voice in his head told him it would be best to just obey this time as well, but his instincts seemed too strong. His whole body turned into a big no.

"I don't want to change. I like it this way, thank you very much."

"Oh, why make such a fuss?" the inspector sighed and then something happened that would haunt Snufkin's dreams for months to come. The inspector and the other hemulen stepped up to him and one of them tore his green coat apart in the back so, sending buttons fly. Snufkin gasped as he realized what was going on. For a long moment, he was unable to move. Long enough for them to rip off the coat entirely. Then he somehow found voice and began to kick and scream frantically:

"Let me go! What right do you have to do this? Let me go!"

At least in that he still felt confident. There was no way in the world that they were actually permitted by law to do this. They surely had overstepped a limit now. His pipe, harmonica and pocket knife all scattered across the floor and Snufkin desperately reached for them, but was harshly pulled back.

"Keep still!" shouted the inspector. The paws around Snufkin's limbs were tight and would form bruises later on. He was grabbed from behind as the inspector's paws enfolded around his skinny chest to keep him in place as the other hemulen undid his shoelaces with quite a lot of trouble, since Snufkin didn't stop fighting. When the hemulen was done with that, the boots were thrown aside and the hemulen went to pull off his socks and trousers. The little mumrik screamed, but none except his perpetrators heard him and when they had stripped him of every garment, since they found that everything was old and worn, they forced him into some new underwear and that horrible red one-piece. Yes, it actually appeared to be a one-piece with buttons up front. Snufkin had stopped fighting by then, so they didn't really have to hold him still anymore. Although he might have collapsed on the floor from the shock had they not.

After that everything turned into a blur and went very fast. Snufkin sank to his knees as they finally let him go, but was pulled up by the collar. He heard the inspector say something about "March on" and he was pushed out of the room and into another. There he was put into a chair and someone cut his hair until it was no longer than an inch. With a blurry sight he watched thick strands of brown hair falling into his lap and onto the floor.

He was lead through a long corridor.

Grey.

Clanging sounds echoing.

Cold.

A cell.

Locked in.

He turned around to see the inspector leave. At last he was gone. Snufkin turned his head to look at his cell. There was a narrow cot in the furthest corner, a sink, a small wooden table with a chair and a curtain hanging from the roof beside the sink, probably covering a toilet.

Snufkin stumbled to the cot, grabbed the blanket and curled up under it as close to the wall as possible. He lay there with his face to the wall, his nose barely touching it.

He could look for a way of escape later. Right now his body was shaking so badly he could barely walk. He felt dizzy, humiliated and and he covered himself completely in the blanket, wanting to hide and disappear. And a thought that wouldn't stop nagging at him in the back of his head, began to scream louder yet again:

What if there was no escape? What if he really had to spend his next two years in here?

Not until then, did he start to cry.