4 February 2013
January the 12th, 1995
Dear Oliver,
Today was just another normal day. We were let out of our cells by that huge grizzly man again, but even though he smells of grease and sweat, nobody bothered to complain. Lunch was great today - half a mashed potato accompanied by twelve wrinkled fries. I sat with my friend again, the one who never speaks. It means he never questions me or laughs at me like all of the other “patients”. He doesn’t eat though, and I’m sure he is getting thinner faster than his grey beard is growing. Sometimes the uniformed men come and shout at him, but I keep my head down and try to block out the noise. Afterwards I went outside, and stared at the great wall again, which towers over us at all sides, reminding us of our imprisonment. I’ve forgotten what's on the other side, and I have given up asking. I always get the same reply - a mocking chuckle followed by, “What don’t involve you don’t concern you, sweetheart.” The only aspect of that sentence that changes is the accent. The other girls started coming out then, so I decided to go back inside. I dragged myself up to Floor 5, which is very ironic as it is actually 6 floors above the ground and 8 flights of stairs which must be ascended to reach it. One hundred and three of them, in fact.
I’m hoping that one day they will let me see you, or allow me to read your letters.
From Yasmin, your loving sister.
The Correction Centre • Opuss № I