I wake the next morning, as I do most mornings, to an empty bed. I roll onto my back and stretch out, lifting my hand up to my head, and to where my bandage is. I exhale loudly, before rolling over and picking my phone up off the nightstand. I blink a couple of times, before my brain can put the blurry lines together to get the time: 7:05.

Groaning, I turn my alarm off, so it doesn't go off in five minutes and make my headache even worse. Then I drag myself out of bed, and towards the bathroom. Once the door is shut behind me, I pull my bandage off and look at the wound in the mirror.

I sigh and begin to get ready for the day.

After I'm dressed and filled with breakfast, I leave the house, with my lunch in my bag, and lock the door behind me. I look over the road and to the drab structure that is Boston Correctional Institution. The prison holds medium and close security inmates. The buildings are surrounded by one wall, holding barbed wire on the top.

I start down the porch steps and to the roadside. I watch the cars passing for a moment, and it's only when I hear a horn blaring at me, that I realize that the cars have slowed to let me across. I quickly lift a hand to apologize, and rush across the road. As I walk quickly, I reach into my bag, grabbing my pass. I walk up onto the sidewalk, and up to the box where the guard is. I smile at him, showing him my pass. He nods. I push against the door, thanking the guard.

The main gate for the vehicles that need to enter, and leave, the prison is further down the road. I fall into the small security area, from the shock of the door opening, my face nearly hitting the stone floor. I hold myself up with the door, at the last minute. I compose myself before putting my bag, phone, and anything metal in a tray, before walking through the metal detector. I hold my breath as I pass through it, even though I have nothing to hide, and I know it won't go off.

As expected, it stays quiet. I move off to the side once I'm through, and a female guard pats me down. As I stand spread eagle I look around. Since the prison is medium and close security, the facility is not as secure as a maximum security prison. However, Roman makes sure that some of the guards are armed.

Behind the woman's head is a mirror, where I know a camera is hiding behind recording all the faces that enter. Three more guards are in the room, along with both of us. Once the woman is happy, she smiles at me, and waves me forward. I grab everything that I put in the tray and walk on.

If I was to turn left, I would be in the visitation center, where there are rooms for visits, along with the telephones attached to a partition that you see in most movies. I continue forwards and to the door that leads out to the main building. As always, one of the many guards employed here, is waiting for me so they can walk me safely to my office.

Roman insisted, when he became warden, that to get to his office he would have to walk through the main blocks, and past all the prisoners. Again, I think it's an intimidation thing. But, unfortunately, that means I have to as well.

"Hi, how are you?" the guard asks.

"I'm okay, I guess. I fell down the stairs," I explain when I see his eyes go to my wound.

I freeze when I realize what I have said. I had told Clayton that I fell into the glass cabinet upstairs. I was so used to making excuses, and that was my usual excuse for my injuries, but if I get my stories mixed up then people will start to doubt what I tell them. It was unlikely that Clayton and this guard would talk about me, but I feel stupid anyway. The guard looks on at me obliviously.

I follow him across the asphalt to the main building. As we walk, I look around. The tall, solid walls are dominating and watch over the movements of the people outside the main building. Every time, I feel like an ant in long blades of grass. And—I assume—like the ant, it's hard to see the outside world. The only thing to look at is the varying colored sky, depending on the day. Each corner holds a shift of two guards, in a tower, who are both armed and ready to take down any escapees.

We've only had two attempted escapes, since Roman became warden. Both failed. The first time that it happened was a shock. We were just getting ready for bed, a couple of months after we came back from our honeymoon, when a loud blaring noise broke through the silence.

Light filled the dark sky, as they powered up the massive spotlights. While all this was happening, Roman's phone had begun to ring. As Roman rushed out of the room, I remember the thoughts at the forefront of my mind.

What if he succeeded? Is he now on his way over here? As it is only a medium/close security prison, there are not as many violent criminals or ones that reoffend as there are in a maximum security one, but it still holds some. I couldn't sleep that night until I knew that they had found the guy. The second time it had happened, I understood what was happening. However, I was still unable to sleep until I had the all clear.

We eventually arrive at the main door into the building. As I wait for the guard to key in the numerical code, which changes every twenty-four hours, I look up at the big building that I call my workplace. Whenever I am asked where I work, and I tell them, I get a raised eyebrow at my small figure. The windows that look out from the building all have bars that crisscross over them. No actual cells have a window, instead they only face them.

A click, tells me that the guard has now successfully opened the door. He walks in, holding the door open from the inside. I thank him as I pass. The door makes a resounding bang as it closes behind me. Like the security area, the prison has old stone floors, which are uneven. We pass the correctional officers that are standing guard at the door, and make our way down the corridor that leads to the hub of the prison.

We emerge into the round, cavernous area. I look down at my watch and see that it's just coming up to 7:30. Any minute now there will be a buzzer, which tells all the inmates to come to their cell door, where the correctional officer on duty will count them to make sure everyone is accounted for. It's like clockwork every day, and it's usually the time that I walk through. There's a bit of chatter from the inmates as we walk.

Every corridor and cell block leads back to here. I look down one of the cell blocks, which has cells that hold two people. They are basic, with two beds protruding from the wall, a toilet and sink, a desk, and a compartment where they can put their possessions. The only light source is from outside. In each block there are two tiers of cells. Above the opening of the corridor, there is a guard station where they have electronic control over all of the cells in that block. They also have keys that open each one individually.

The hub of the prison is made up of an armory in the middle, with walkways going up the walls around it, where guards patrol. When there is a riot, every guard will get, if needed, their weapons from this armory.

We are about three quarters of the way to the corridor that leads to Roman's, and my, office, when the buzzer sounds. The inmates, except for the ones that are working in the mess hall, will now move to their cell doors and face outwards, waiting to be counted. Once the guards are happy with the number, a second buzzer will go letting the guard in control of the cells know he can open them all.

At this point all inmates will exit their cells and face the mess hall. Upon the third buzzer, the inmates will all make their way single file, tier by tier, to the mess hall. They will then be escorted as they get their meals. After they have finished their meals, and the guards have checked that all the utensils are still there, they are allowed out, to go back to their cells, or to their designated work in the prison shops.

Most choose the work, so they are not stuck in their cells all day. After work is over, at 3 p.m., the inmates are allowed time on the yard for a couple of hours until supper. At 6 p.m. for an hour they hold classes or activities that the inmates can attend. Then at eight, all inmates have to return to their cell block, but are allowed outside their cells to play card games, on tables and chairs bolted to the floor, or watch TV.

The cell has to remain closed and locked whether they leave or stay in it. By eleven, it is lights out, and it starts all over again the next day. Of course, throughout the day they carry out counts of the inmates.

We arrive safely in the corridor as the second buzzer goes. The familiar slamming of the doors from them rolling back hits my ears.

"Okay, I'll leave you here. You'll be alright now, but can you tell Roman that I walked you all the way to your door?"

I give him an understanding smile. "Of course."

"Thank you," he tells me before making his way back towards the main part of the building.

I get to the door, around the corner, and pull out my keys. As the third buzzer goes off, and I start to hear the footfall of all the inmates making their way to the mess hall, I enter the small room I call my office. It's just big enough that I can squeeze past the desk that we were able to push into the room. A computer is situated on the top, amidst the scattered papers.

I try and clear a space so I can put my bag down. I look at the brown, withering plant in the corner which stands against the white wall. I make a note to myself, to buy another and take better care of that one. Once the papers are cleared and I have started to turn on my computer—which takes forever to load—I decide to see if Roman is in his office, so he knows that I have arrived safely.

I push past my desk again and walk out to the hallway, only to stop and turn back to the door next to my office. I bite my lip, hoping slightly that he might be out. I bring my closed fist up to the door and give a quick, rhythmic four taps. I step back and wait for the call for me to come in. A minute passes, and I go to knock again, wondering if he had heard me.

I step up to the door, and raise my fist when my whole world goes dark. A hand is over my eyes, and my mouth. I struggle against the assailant, letting out a muffled scream. Is it a prisoner aiming to hold me ransom? Is it...

But before my brain can think of another panicked theory, I am turned around to see my husband's face grinning back at me. He, however, doesn't give me any comfort. I hit his chest, in what seems like a playful manner, but deep down I'm returning everything that he's ever done to me.

"Not funny, Roman!" I grumble.

"It was a little," he replies. "I was just overseeing the arrival of the new prisoners."

I try to make an interested noise, but to be honest I don't really care.

"Is there anything else today?" he asks, his hands still on me.

"I don't know yet; I haven't had the chance to look. My computer should be on now, I'll go and see," I tell him, having an excuse to free myself from his grip. I enter my office, and move around my desk. I bend down and open the diary.

"There's nothing else planned today," I call to Roman, who is still standing in the corridor.

"Okay," he calls back.

"Thank you?" I mouth. I exhale noisily, and bring up my own diary, to see if I am visiting anyone today. I smile when I see that I'm seeing one of my 'regulars'. At least I have something to look forward to today.

"Hey, DeeDee, can you type this up for me?" Roman asks coming into my office. I give him a forced smile.

"Of course." I sit down in my chair, and look down at the handwritten letter he has passed me, and begin to type.

Glossary:

Mess Hall: Where their meals ('chow') are collected and eaten. It originates from the Old French word 'mes' meaning 'portion of food', which was taken from the Latin verb 'mittere', which means 'to put' or 'to send' (the primary sense of 'a meal put on the table'). However, in my opinion, the idea (and image) of the inmates being messy eaters, and throwing their food around like toddlers, is much better. It is also referred to by inmates as the 'chow hall'.

Shop: Unfortunately, the inmates can't have a shopping spree. Shop is short for workshop where they will make different things for the prison, and even distribute them outside of the prison walls. One example of what an inmate makes in a shop is keys and locks for doors (No joke, I know of one prison where they actually did make them). Ironic, huh? Other jobs that inmates can do are chores around the prison, like laundry and gardening/labor (fixing the prison can be one of their tasks, so if they break it in a riot, they have to fix it).

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