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3 Inch Prison
Inch Prison
Georgina Stalley 1
Georgina Stalley
The Author
Georgina Stalley is a writer from York, England. Her love of reading and hatred of every end resulted in her desire to create her own endings. Similarly, her strange obsession with horror films has translated into her writing and she now specialiseds in horror fictions. She is currently a student at The University of Winchester studying Creative Writing. ‘3 Inch Prison’ will be her first e-book.
To Contact:
Facebook www.facebook.com/ Georgina-Stalley-145465396109423/
Twitter www.twitter.com/GeorginaStalley 2
3 Inch Prison
3 Inch Prison by
Georgina Stalley
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Georgina Stalley
For You
Who for some reason decided to open up this e-book created by an amateur writer
Thank you
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3 Inch Prison
Contents
Month One.......................................................................6 Month Two.....................................................................10 Month Three...................................................................11 Month Four.....................................................................12 Month Five.....................................................................14 Month Six.......................................................................15 End Of Sentence............................................................16
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Georgina Stalley
Month One Welcome to the land of the living.” A rosy cheeked face looms towards me. Crow’s feet crease on her skin as a grin stretches across her face. Bile forms in my throat and I gag as she gets closer. The sight makes me feel uneasy, no human should have to experience a reality like this. Mothers and fathers read fairy tales to their children about magical worlds where there is a little boy called Jack, who encounters a giant and defeats it. I never thought I would take the place of Jack and face a towering beast who makes me feel inferior and powerless, just by being in their presence. She holds out her hand to me, but I just stare at it. “C’mon, pet. There’s nothing to fear here. Just settle on my hand and I’ll take you to your quarters. I’d really appreciate if you cooperate, lass, I don’t want to have to manhandle you.” Dejectedly, I walk onto her hand and allow her to put me in a basket. She walks me to the prison cell, but each step feels like a punch to the gut. The woman’s pace is quite average, yet it affects me like an old wooden rollercoaster. My head smashes against the side and the horse hair fibres of the basket scratch my cheek. I grab onto the hair but the next step forces my hands to slip away and drags me to the floor. Head spinning and my stomach feeling like it’s going to empty itself, I no longer have the energy to resist and allow myself to flail about. We stop moving and my stomach calms down, but my head remains splintered and pulsing. My eyes refocus and blanch at the sight upon me. The cell that is waiting for me is packed with fellow 3-inch-tall humans. Their roar of anguish and distress washes over me. Mine and my keeper’s presence has caused a ruckus among the mistreated. They scream for the sake of making a noise but it merely sounds like a disgruntled chatter to the lady who brought me here. She holds me over the cage and lowers me to the ground, dropping me before she gets too close to the waving hands that are 6
3 Inch Prison desperately grabbing for her. I land roughly and my vision disorientates, but I haul my body to stand up so I don’t get overwhelmed by the sea of prisoners. People are trying to climb upon the woman’s hand and she shrugs them off, dropping them on the others in the cell. A couple have managed to grab hold of her sleeve and are being carried upwards, but with a flick of her wrist she flings them to other side of the cage, where they hit the bars and drop to the floor. They don’t look like they’re the moving anymore. People hit each other by accident while they’re trying to get away from the chaos, whilst others attack out of self-defence. The violence spreads and soon the entire cage is either hurt or hurting others. I hold my hands up to shield my face, but it makes no difference. My body gets caught in the mess and I spend all my efforts in making sure that I don’t get knocked to the floor and trampled. The fight goes on for a while, far longer than it should, before guards notice. A few people lie in a crumpled heap, whilst everyone else is sporting some variation of a bruise or injury. The big burly guard with the drooping moustache rattles the cage bars and bellows. “Knock it off now, or I’ll make you regret it.” His penetrative voice makes many of us wince, but too many people have been caught up in this fight and are struggling to leave it. The guard walks away, returning with something that chills me. He opens the small gas can and throws it in the middle of the cell. Splashes of blood, from the tiny casualties that now lay unconscious underneath the tear gas can, spatter the neighbouring people. The gas leaks out and spreads across the room, whilst the guards remain safe under the cover of masks. I see people ahead of me doubling over and coughing, but my focus on them disappears once my eyes start to water and burn, the pain so intense I’d rather scratch them out than continue to feel this agony. My chest tightens and I helplessly grab at it, but to no avail. I can barely breathe, I gasp for air but it feels like all the oxygen 7
Georgina Stalley has left this room. My stomach gurgles, I heave and my last free meal escapes me. Dizziness overwhelms me and I collapse, the other prisoners following suit. Waking up proves to be a refreshing yet disheartening experience. Whilst still overcrowded, the cell is emptier and the blood stains that hug the floor serve as a reminder of the previous night. High pitched nattering and ambling pricks my ears and I notice people barging their way to the front of the cell. I crane my neck to see what the fuss is about, and see the guards bringing a tray of food. I stand on my tip toes to try and look behind him, but he’s the only guard nearby. There isn’t any guards following after with trays in hand. My heart slows as I realise that the guards don’t have a clue how to take care of people of our size. Instead of giving us individual meals that are catered to our needs, as any civilized person deserves, we are forced to engage in an animalistic battle. I try to push my way to the front of the cell, but the other prisoners are twice the size of me, their muscled arms and bulging torsos acting as a wall I can’t pass. Spotting an opening, I get on all fours and crawl through people’s legs. I get quite far, until one of them notices that I’m pushing my way to the front and grabs me by the back of my collar. He yanks me up to eye level and stares me down. We stay like that for a moment, until he spits on my face and slams me down to the floor. I place my palms on the floor and try to push myself up, but my vision has doubled, and I fall flat on my face. He shoves my body to the floor once again, exhaustion taking me and my ability to move. After people have finished eating, the crowd starts to thin out and I pull myself to my feet and I shuffle towards the tray. There doesn’t seem to be much left, and what remains has been torn and chewed beyond recognition. I take what appears to be half a pea and begin to eat. It isn’t the most tasteful meal and certainly doesn’t give me all the nutrition I need for the day, but it’s all I have.
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3 Inch Prison I wrap myself in a blanket and lie down in an isolated corner. For now, the floor will have to do as there is too much building work to be completed before prisoners can be placed in fully equipped quarters. Across the hall, I see cells with metal dividers, separating people. Inside there’s miniature beds that have been delicately crafted for someone who’s around three inches tall to fit in. Small squares of cloth have been stitched together to create a duvet, with a couple of feathers stuffed inside. Someone walks into the cell from an adjoining room, and I peek into the room they left before the door closes. Inside is a shower, toilet and sink. It’s basic as far as bathrooms go, but they have a bathroom which is more than I can say for the rest of us. I feel the presence of someone behind me and turn to pose them a question. “Why do they have all that? Their own bed, a shower, while we get given the floor to sleep on and have communal showers.” She draws a quick breath, shocked at being noticed, and pulls away her nails that she was nibbling on. “They made a few of those cells after Shetland’s announcement, so they’d be ready for the new load of prisoners. Then she went and pushed up the starting date for the shrinking operation ‘cause there was an influx of new criminals. Wasn’t any room for them so we had to get shrinked down. Gave the furnished rooms to the ones who’d be staying here the longest while they work on building places for the rest of us.” I nod, realisation dawning on my face. I understand their reasoning, but it still doesn’t seem humane to allow the rest of us to wallow in these conditions.
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Georgina Stalley
Month Two Being trapped in a confined space like this is very boring. To make time go faster, I’ve started chatting with the others, who I guess I would consider my roommates. One of which is Sandy, a strange woman with a few habits that make me feel a bit nauseous. Sandy curls her hair around her fingers and pulls, strands of hair being yanked from her scalp. “So, you must really hate your daughter, huh?” she drawls. Another hair pops out of its socket and I cringe. “Millie? Why on earth would I hate her, she’s my daughter, I love her.” A voice laughs from behind me. “Sure, she’s your daughter, but she’s the reason your stuck in this place, am I right?” I turn to face a crotchety man with stringy grey hair and hanging bags underneath his eyes. His mouth is stretched into a conniving grin that I want to slap off his face. “No,” I growl through my teeth, “It’s my fault I’m stuck here. I was the one who lost my job and couldn’t afford to pay for groceries. She’s only a baby, she didn’t ask me to shoplift baby formula. I only have my incompetence to blame.” “Yeah, but you must like, still resent her a little bit? I get that she’s a baby and it would be irrational to hate her, but if she didn’t exist, you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t have to be a guinea pig for Shetland and her cronies.” “She’s right, you know,” the old man chimes in, “We don’t even know if their shrink ray technology is reversible. We’re criminals, they’d be happy to find a way to get rid of us permanently.” “I love her, nothing will change that. End of.” The company around me has begun to get on my nerves, so I retreat to my imagination. Images of Millie flutter through my mind, her sandy blond hair filters through my fingers as I desperately grab for her. My heart calms as I think about her. She is the only thing retaining my sanity in this place.
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3 Inch Prison
Month Three Morning and night, we are allowed to leave our cell in order to maintain our bodily hygiene. In this case, we are just preserving a foul level of hygiene. I dip one of the toothbrushes in the pool of toothpaste that the guard squirted out for us, and brush my teeth. As I try to put down the toothbrush, it is taken out of my hand and used to clean the rotting teeth of a dirty looking man. Feeling queasy, I turn away from him and go to use the makeshift toilet. We can’t use the real one as we would probably fall inside, so instead we sit on a bucket with a lid and a tiny hole in it. The stench is foul, especially if we’re one of the last people to use the bucket. After I’m finished relieving myself, I end the morning by cleaning my body. I go into the shower room, doing my best to avoid eye contact with the other occupants. There are no curtains or stalls to separate us, forcing us to shower next to each other naked. When I first arrived, I tried to hide my privates from prying eyes, but my hands couldn’t cover up my modesty, as well as washing my hair and body. Despite being here for well over a month, I’m still not used to exposing myself to compete strangers. Soon the stench that I was adopting was so pungent, I had no choice but to be nude if I wanted to clean myself properly. As I undress myself, I feel stranger’s eyes doing the same to me. I glance around the room and catch sight of a woman watching me. I quickly look away, but in doing so, I notice the male guard in the corner checking out my body. His eyes are focused on my chest, occasionally drifting downwards. I look away, tears pricking in the corners of my eyes. It’s a common occurrence, but that doesn’t mean I’m used to it. It probably happens so frequently because I’m one of the youngest people in the prison. Sometimes it’s the other prisoners having a gander at me, usually it’s the guards. I try to pretend it’s not happening or act like I don’t notice. Of course, it is happening, and I do notice. I may only get lingered at in the showers, but the memories don’t stay there. When I go to bed, all I can see is their eyes, devouring my body and taking ownership of myself. 11
Georgina Stalley
Month Four A hand wraps around my waist and places me in the basket once again. Just like the first day. Today is visiting day and I am about to see my mum for the first time in three months. This is the first time she’s come into contact with me, so I presume she’s only just gotten over the fact that her child is in prison. Once again, the journey has me moaning in agony, and at one point, I accidentally swallow some bile that was trying to slide its way out of my throat. I feel myself be picked up and placed on a hard-wooden surface, but I am too disorientated to examine my new surroundings. I wait until my breath has returned to a natural rhythm, and look up to see what’s around me. Single desks litter the floor in a regular fashion, each with a battered-up chair pushed in. Some of the chairs have people in it, and they are talking with fervour to the prisoner atop the table. I look back to my table and see it is empty. To pass the time, I eavesdrop on the conversations around me, which have grasped me so much that I don’t notice someone’s arrived until I hear the screeching of a chair being pushed back. Looking up, I see my mum, but no child should have to see a parent in this manner. Instead of being able to see her whole head, I am treated to a view of her nostrils that seem to stretch across her face, which is not a place I wanted to see magnified. She sniffs deeply and I see her nostrils contract. “You don’t seem to be doing well, Tabitha.” I nod, unsure of what she wants me to say. “I’m sorry, am I speaking to a brick wall? Now it’s your time to ask me a question.” I sigh. “How are you mother?” “Speak up, I can barely hear you,” she frowns. Taking a deep breath, I repeat myself. She grunts, and air flows out of her nostrils which knock my body back slightly. She reaches toward me and pinches my waist in between her forefinger and thumb. I let out a yelp, she’s squeezing far too tightly, causing me to see red and white flashes. She holds me up 12
3 Inch Prison next to her ear and I see the waxy tendrils that rest inside. I blanch. “Now you can speak.” Her booming voice penetrates my ears and I feel close to faint. “How are you?” I say, voice trembling.
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Georgina Stalley
Month Five I requested that I no longer receive visitors. The request was accepted, and I now spend visiting hours alone in my cell. Or at least, as close to alone as I can get. My spirit diminished, I spend most of my time lying in a corner. Poking at leftovers, I pop a bit of carrot in my mouth, but it is tasteless and lacks texture, eating has become something to cure my boredom rather than a source of survival and happiness. I daydream about leaving this place. Leaving my mother and Millie behind, knowing what it’s like to live for myself again. I imagine gathering the courage to hop on a plane and get off in New York City. I would do all the tourist attractions. Climb to the top of the big apple, visit the statue of liberty. I see myself immersing myself among their culture, making friends with the locals and trying a typical New York style pizza. I feel free.
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3 Inch Prison
Month Six
Today we’re being treated for good behaviour. They’re allowing us into the recreation room. A few people are playing pool or air hockey, I’ve dropped myself on the sofa so I can watch TV. I attempt to flick through the channels, but it seems that this TV only has one channel. A propaganda channel. Sarah Shetland, the new prime minister stares back at me as she rattles off her another speech. “We need to solve this homeless problem once and for all. We can’t have people taking over our streets and claiming it as their own, taking money from our countries citizens. It’s not right that the rest of us work hard for our money, while a few bums on the streets manage to leech off of us. That’s why I’m proposing to you a curfew. Anyone seen in the streets after midnight will be taken into custody by local police. They won’t be allowed to leave until they’ve provided a valid ID and address…” She continues to preach but I’m no longer listening. She’s apparently moved on from criminals and has moved onto another group that doesn’t fit into her plan. Another group of people whose lives she is willing to ruin. If this is what she managed to do in the first two years of her presidency, I can only expect it to get worse.
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Georgina Stalley
End Of Sentence My first steps going outside in 6 months are anticlimactic. I expected to feel joy, excitement, anything except this emptiness in the pit of my stomach. I look behind me and watch as the prison building gets smaller, the archway leading to the entrance disappearing. The barbed fences surrounding the prison almost invisible. It fills me with dread to leave this place that I have become forced to depend on. I hail a cab and go to give the driver my mother’s address. As I meet his eyes, I freeze. He stares back at me, confused. I avert my gaze and hurriedly give him the destination while I go to sit in the back seat. That was the first time I’ve made eye contact with a human that isn’t wearing a prison jumpsuit in months. I’m so used to staring up at the staff who worked at prison, never making eye contact, only looking at them. It disturbs me to see the driver eye to eye, it’s almost like he knew what I am thinking, and I don’t trust him at all. He reminds me of the guards. I decide to stare outside the window for the journey, but seeing things like buses and dogs is too much off a culture shock for me. I’ve spent half a year being confined in 4 walls, so to see the world and everyone in it being free is too much for me to handle right now. I close my eyes and imagine I’m back in my cell. The only time I feel normal anymore is when my eyes are closed, so I can pretend that nothing has changed. “You’ve finally returned to raise your daughter, I see.” She turns around with my baby resting in her arms, the yellow and golden hues atop the child’s head beckon my attention, but I quickly raise my eyes to meet my mother’s. She looks frustrated, but also tired and regretful. Her eyes are strained, and the wrinkles are more pronounced than they were before I left. Her untamed hair flows freely down her back, no longer in the tight bun she used to love. “She’s started talking since you’ve been gone.” I hum a note of appreciation. “Her first word was mama. She called me mama.” 16
3 Inch Prison I look around the room and sigh. My mother’s face frowns in disapproval at my reaction. “Is that it? You’ve found out that your daughter has finally started talking and you can’t even be bothered to open your mouth and say something?” “I’m sorry mother. I can barely hear you. You’re so quiet.” She continues to talk to me but I mostly tune her out. Since I’ve returned, everything is so quiet. Even that child’s cries are quiet. I see her trying to grab my attention, her arms are reaching out towards me, but I swiftly look away. Instead, I look up and try to see who’s staring at me. My skin tingles. There are no holes in the ceiling for eyes to look through or hands to poke through. But I cannot forget about the windows in this room. The kid is getting frustrated at not getting attention, so she starts to whine and thrash her hands about. It’s distracting, but I ignore the girl and focus on more important issues, such as who is watching me. Hands grab at me, but I bat them away and hear a large thump. Relief floods through me as I’m greeted by the silence, but it is soon disrupted by the anguished cries of my mother. Instead of checking up on her, I look through the window expecting to see a face looking at me but there’s only greenery. That should make me feel safe, but instead I only feel antsy. Despite all reasoning, I now believe there to be someone who’s watching me under the veil of darkness, ready to strike and punish me at any moment. I long for the familiarity. I had gotten used to it. The change of being sent into the real world at a regular height is far too jarring. It is impossible to adjust. I need to return to the cell. As I contemplate how to get back inside the prison, I glance over to my mother. She is hunched over on the floor, her body heaving with each guttural sob that claws its way out of her throat. She looks distraught. I turn to look at the dead baby next to her. I stare at it. Soon after, I lose interest in the baby. But as I walk away, a tear rolls down my face and I don’t know why. 17
Georgina Stalley
In a future dystopian society that has almost been run into anarchy, the police have a lot on their plate. Criminal instincts are running rampant in civilians, resulting in an increase in rioting, petty theft and violence. To try and keep their communities a safe and civil place, police are making arrests more frequently and aggressively. Unfortunately, their prisons were not built for such a high level of occupants and soon they are not only overpopulated, but unliveable. Luckily, newly appointed Prime Minister Sarah Shetland has revealed the solution to prison crowding. Protagonist Tabitha will be one of the first people to experience being shrunk down, which will prove to be more difficult than she expected.
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