Prison

Link to the first part of this story, Catalyst. This can be read as a separate story, but I’ll suggest you start with that one.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Are you alright, lad?” Asked Fred, with genuine concern.
“Eh, he’ll be fine. First day of prison, what else do ya expect?” Grunted Sal.

You make your own destiny, your own fate, luck, or whatever you believe in. Or so the saying goes. He made his. He chose to tell the truth, when he could have so easily lied.
He chose to save an innocent man’s life.
He chose to live a life without guilt.
He chose to condemn himself to a life in prison.

Cell 12B, a 6×8 feet prison cell, with the basic necessities required for human survival, was to be his home for the next twenty two years.
Cell 12B, with dull, grey, cemented walls, three bunk beds, one tarnished mirror and one closet.
Salvatore Treville and Freddie Peterson his new cellmates.

“I’m Fred, but the lads around here call me Freddie. This big ol’ piece of junk here, is Sal. Funny case, his. His mam’s French but he was born and raised in Northern Ireland. Y’could say he gets the worst of both sides. Enough about us, you haven’t uttered a word since you got here. What’s your name, guv?”

But are we really in control of the choices that we make? Or ourselves? Some say our choices are already set, in place, aligned with the movements of the universe. We don’t control our choices. We just get to make them.

“Harold. My name is Harold Law, and this is the longest day of my life.”

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