The Inmate's Tale

by Shanee Bareli

HERE BEGINS THE PROLOGUE OF THE INMATE’S TALE: “Things change in a man, ya’ know, when they’re out of their, shall we say, natural habitat. They tend to crawl up inside themselves, hiding from the rest of the world, just like Ralph, my inmate. He reminds me of a turtle. When they’re in danger they kind of shrink back into their shell. Isn’t that right? Ha, an odd one he is. It’s no wonder he ended up in a place like this, sheltered from the world. Well, more like the world is sheltered from him. God knows what kind of horrors he’s capable of. Just listening to him makes me sick. He screams all night like a child in need of its mother. Disgusting. He talks to me as if I could save his soul. Jesus this, Jesus that. Enough with your religious psychobabble! Like I didn’t get enough of that at home, please. No one can save your damned soul. You’re already going to burn in hell just like your God-awful parents. That’s what I thought; too ashamed to show your face. He buries himself in the darkest, unseen cracks and crevices of this place. If I couldn’t hear him squabbling his nonsense all the time, I wouldn’t even know we share the same cell. I guess this is the part where I tell you why I’m here. Don’t get ahead of yourself and start thinking I’m the bad guy in this situation. Look, in these times, there’s a certain cookie-cutter criteria that society wants you to have, and if you don’t fit the role, the director kicks you off his stage.  It’s a play and the whole world is putting on an act. Who’s in charge? The elite few that are part of an aristocratic, wealthy class of morbidly obese, close-minded, brainless fools! My family, coming from a long line of successful playwrights, wrote our own script. We were devout Christians; needless to say, we followed no ones’ rules but Gods’.  I used to see them in the wrong light, calling them radicals and fanatics. I’ve learned my lesson in the years gone by never to judge another being. Even when you are so certain they are doing the work of Satan, you must trust that Jesus is the only savior and you as a lowly human was not put on this earth to make judgments fit for the saintly. As it is written in Luke 6:27, “Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven.” That’s where I made my mistake. I have judged, criticized and questioned my parent’s way of raising me. Usually the word ‘mother’ brings feelings of warmth and love, but for me, all I could see is a stone cold heart beating in rhythm to the lashes of my father’s belt against my bare bottom. He said earthly pain was only temporary, but spiritual pain was eternal. I believed him; it’s not like I had a choice. I was neglected but Dad said love for God was stronger than love for people. I was beaten daily to the point where it hurt to sit, but Mom said it was impolite to stand at the table. If I forgot to say grace, the roof became my bed. Even on the coldest winter nights when the bitter wind rattled by bones, I was tied to the chimney, displayed as the town joke. But nights when Mom wasn’t around were the worst. Dad told me it was okay, because it was a spiritual act. I didn’t like it. I woke up bruised and embarrassed. You could say I was raped or abused, but most people just couldn’t understand their parenting style. It shaped me into the man I am today. I’m still not perfect. My judgments had a cost. It cost me a life sentence in isolation, away from the world where I can’t infect them with my heinous ideas and wickedness. I never had many friends anyway until I met Ralph. Let me explain to you how we met…”

HERE BEGINS THE INMATE’S TALE:

“On the coldest day of the year I was born

And ever since then I was an object of scorn,

With my scrawny appearance and black bottomless eyes

My parent’s biggest wish was to see me die,

I was taught to believe in Jesus divine

And still I was never to the family sublime,

Beaten and bruised on a daily basis

I slowly built up a burning hatred,

Raped and accused multiply times

I never had a friend that I could call mine,

I started to see a boy just like me

A turtle someday I told him he’d be,

Invisible to all he’d whisper to me

Even when Mom shouted, “Ralph Listen to me!”

So one day I had enough of this pain

Took out the axe and walked out in the rain,

I tore our their sleeping hearts, a smile did not hide

All along having Ralph by my side,

They found us two separate people talking like one

Crazed eyes darting back and forth, trying to run,

They judged with the verdict insane

And to this day I have that title to my name.