7/11/2007 I arrived at “The Bay”. Hot and stuffy we filed off the bus. I felt sluggish and weighted down. Deep breathing, palms sweaty, entering another alien world with no guidance, only my extraordinary will to survive. For all I knew, around the next corner little green men would jump out, taking turns poking me with a sharp stick.
I tried to fit in as best as I could being the new kid in town. Saying little as possible, holding my best composure not to let anyone see or hear how much I didn’t know. Learning behavioral norms, being socially raped daily with regurgitated personal stories of crimes committed, prison drama and trying like hell to understand the new and sleazy sub-human lingo. Ugh.
Seven days after I arrived, I was mentally frazzled. It was like having attack dog’s chase me through miles of sticker bushes naked. I feared walking to the cafeteria, eating, and walking back, because this is were almost every violent attack happened. Early that morning I witnessed someone walk up behind a guy and repeatedly stab him in the face with a pair of scissors while I poured milk into my scalding hot oatmeal.
At this point I wondered why it felt like gravel was in my throat, until I realized I was gurgling barf. What made a lasting impression was not the fact that a horrific attack took place, it was the scissors had been taped to his hand. Yeah, apparently this man didn’t want the scissors to slip out of his hand before he got the chance to cut his victims face off. Blood and sticky face tissue tend to make it difficult to grip scissors???
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