The Prison
Justin. Age 13. Furlong, PA

I had been sent to the prison. Two stories of dull grey stone, its figure looming over us as we entered. I was ushered through two doors. On the other side, shady hallways stretched into an everlasting gloom. I was stewarded down these hallways, into the everlasting darkness, until I came to a door. Although the lights inside this door were dim, I would do anything to escape the shadow of the hallways. I would soon find it a mistake to leave those hallways. The room I had just entered was freezing cold! But that wasn’t the only problem. The room was as packed with people as a FedEx box is with bubble wrap. Teeth chattering, I tried to find a place to sit in the room. When I found a seat, a tall man, the warden of this prison, silenced the cacophony in the room with a shout into his megaphone. I sat with an impending sense of dread as the warden described the various “activities” at the prison. “Activities!?” I thought. What “activities” could I possibly do here! The warden may want this prison to be fun and happy, but the other inmates and I knew the truth: This jail is just here to hold us captive from the fun and happiness that goes on in the world outside. The warden, still speaking, was unexpectedly cut off by a blare as loud as the roar of a lion. Suddenly, the innumerable people started moving forward, quelling anyone in their path. I had no choice but to join them in the crawl towards the door. The day at the prison had started.

The plethora of people, moving around the prison as slow as molasses, were led up a flight of stairs seemingly as long as the distance between the earth and the sun. Sulking, I trudged up the stairs, resigned to my fate as an inmate. The mass of people, me included, were soon sent to our cells, small rectangular prisms, where we were supposed to keep our personal belongings. “How are we supposed to keep are possessions in a space this small?” I asked. “This cell is smaller than a mouse!” Another alarm blared, this one signalling the inmates to travel to their containment room. I had already heard horror stories about these containment rooms. Supposedly, adults hold the inmates captive for hours in these rooms, keeping the inmates in complete silence all the while. The adult that contains you has a massive impact on how your life as an inmate goes. If your adult officer is okay, you may be able to bear coming to the prison every day. If your adult officer is awful, then you can look forward to thousands of minutes of misery in the prison. This is it, I told myself, your future is about to be decided. Nervously, I stepped into the room. I took in the bright colors, the sunlight streaming through the huge window in the containment room. My adult, a medium-sized women with a bright smile on her face, beamed at me as I entered the room. “Hello,” she said, “My name is Ms. Ambrosini!”

I was stunned. This was the first time I had seen a smile since I stepped into the school. The other students were smiling as well. I had never seen a scene of such happiness and joy. Maybe this year won’t be so bad, I thought to myself.

The first day at Holicong Middle School was much better than I expected. At the beginning of the day, I had thought that the year would be awful, with homework after homework, test after test, coming my way. Instead, I have found that the prison, Holicong Middle School, isn’t so bad. It just goes to show: Never judge a person or place based on the stories of other people. Wait until you experience the person or place to form your opinion. I will be sent to the “prison” again next year. Except this time, I’ll enjoy it.

Home | Read | Write | Copyright | Privacy

This page was last updated on August 07, 2015 by the KIdsWWwrite Webmaster.