and round up the cattle to take back to their stalls.
‘Prisoners Hennegan and Miles.’ I yell loud enough for my voice to carry across the men. My eyes flick from one face to the next, waiting to land on the faces that show ownership of their name. A tall, rake-thin man with rat-like features stands up. He has a shit-eating grin that exposes yellowed teeth that have definitely seen better days. His hair is long and scraggly with about two months’ worth of grease piled up in it.
‘I’m Miles.’ A warm voice next to me makes me jump. My eyes tear away from the slime that’s working its way towards me, persuaded by the smooth tenure of his voice. I inwardly cuss, because he’s the last person I want to see.
My eyes can’t help but flick from his square, stubbly jaw to his thick, muscled forearms. His jade-green eyes wait patiently, not minding in the slightest that I’m giving him the once over. His manner is almost lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world, which, I suppose he does. I wait for Hennegan to join us before addressing the pair of them.
‘Fisher said you guys have visitors. Let’s go.’
‘Wooo-eee! Well if it isn’t my lucky day.’ Hennegan grins like a fool. Smiling does nothing to improve his look. He starts for the door, Miles falling into step behind him. They wait while I swipe the security lock with my magnetic pass card, the lock falling into the recession as the buzzer alerts us we have access.
I follow them out, securing the door behind us. They’ve been to the visitation area many times; they don’t need to be told where to go. I follow their green prison garb down the halls, on high alert, one hand ready at the baton just in case they want to get fresh. I may be a woman, but I’m no pushover.
My security card allows us entry through several more doors before we come to the visitation section of the prison. Both men recognize their friends or family waiting for them on the other side of the Perspex.
My job is to wait, so I do, making note of the time. Each prisoner is only allowed two hours of visitation rights per week – no more, no less. On the other side of Miles is a younger man, although he looks more aged than even some of the prisoners doing hard time here. I guess you don’t have to have bars to have a life sentence. Sometimes the physical pain is enough to hold you stagnant in your life.
There are similarities to the men, like they’re from the same gene pool, although the man on the other side, the free side, doesn’t have the bulk that Saxon Miles has. He’s gaunt and disheveled and, while he seems happy enough to see Miles, he doesn’t look like he sees much happiness on the outside. He looks like a user, although I’m confident the security check-point the visitors go through before being admitted to the visiting area are sufficient enough to produce any drugs if concealed on his person. I guess shit breeds shit. Most of the guys in prison have another family member who has spent some time in the penal system. It’s a hard cycle to break.
They talk, both aware the clock is ticking. I have to issue a caution twice to Hennegan for being too loud with his visitor. It’s like the guy has no off switch. Miles, meanwhile, can’t help but keep pilfering glances my way. What is with him, anyway? I’m not about to give him a warning, because that would mean that I acknowledge that he’s even looking my way, which I don’t want to do. But his looks are unsettling. It’s like he’s willing me to break my resolve and look at him. Right now, I think he’s fighting a losing battle.
When their time’s up, they’re both reluctant to leave their visitor. I can’t blame them. They’ve only got the monotonous routine of prison life to go back to. Single file, we walk the walls that hold them captive. Thankfully Hennegan doesn’t give me any trouble, and I secure him in his cell without any mishap. It leaves me to walk Miles back to his own cage
‘Prisoners Hennegan and Miles.’ I yell loud enough for my voice to carry across the men. My eyes flick from one face to the next, waiting to land on the faces that show ownership of their name. A tall, rake-thin man with rat-like features stands up. He has a shit-eating grin that exposes yellowed teeth that have definitely seen better days. His hair is long and scraggly with about two months’ worth of grease piled up in it.
‘I’m Miles.’ A warm voice next to me makes me jump. My eyes tear away from the slime that’s working its way towards me, persuaded by the smooth tenure of his voice. I inwardly cuss, because he’s the last person I want to see.
My eyes can’t help but flick from his square, stubbly jaw to his thick, muscled forearms. His jade-green eyes wait patiently, not minding in the slightest that I’m giving him the once over. His manner is almost lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world, which, I suppose he does. I wait for Hennegan to join us before addressing the pair of them.
‘Fisher said you guys have visitors. Let’s go.’
‘Wooo-eee! Well if it isn’t my lucky day.’ Hennegan grins like a fool. Smiling does nothing to improve his look. He starts for the door, Miles falling into step behind him. They wait while I swipe the security lock with my magnetic pass card, the lock falling into the recession as the buzzer alerts us we have access.
I follow them out, securing the door behind us. They’ve been to the visitation area many times; they don’t need to be told where to go. I follow their green prison garb down the halls, on high alert, one hand ready at the baton just in case they want to get fresh. I may be a woman, but I’m no pushover.
My security card allows us entry through several more doors before we come to the visitation section of the prison. Both men recognize their friends or family waiting for them on the other side of the Perspex.
My job is to wait, so I do, making note of the time. Each prisoner is only allowed two hours of visitation rights per week – no more, no less. On the other side of Miles is a younger man, although he looks more aged than even some of the prisoners doing hard time here. I guess you don’t have to have bars to have a life sentence. Sometimes the physical pain is enough to hold you stagnant in your life.
There are similarities to the men, like they’re from the same gene pool, although the man on the other side, the free side, doesn’t have the bulk that Saxon Miles has. He’s gaunt and disheveled and, while he seems happy enough to see Miles, he doesn’t look like he sees much happiness on the outside. He looks like a user, although I’m confident the security check-point the visitors go through before being admitted to the visiting area are sufficient enough to produce any drugs if concealed on his person. I guess shit breeds shit. Most of the guys in prison have another family member who has spent some time in the penal system. It’s a hard cycle to break.
They talk, both aware the clock is ticking. I have to issue a caution twice to Hennegan for being too loud with his visitor. It’s like the guy has no off switch. Miles, meanwhile, can’t help but keep pilfering glances my way. What is with him, anyway? I’m not about to give him a warning, because that would mean that I acknowledge that he’s even looking my way, which I don’t want to do. But his looks are unsettling. It’s like he’s willing me to break my resolve and look at him. Right now, I think he’s fighting a losing battle.
When their time’s up, they’re both reluctant to leave their visitor. I can’t blame them. They’ve only got the monotonous routine of prison life to go back to. Single file, we walk the walls that hold them captive. Thankfully Hennegan doesn’t give me any trouble, and I secure him in his cell without any mishap. It leaves me to walk Miles back to his own cage
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