Prisoner’s Chronicles

The Fourth Wall

It’s a short walk on a warm sunny day. Perhaps 30 meters along a pleasant walkway, all uphill. On either side, green grass; some tall, leafy trees; and some summers, a flower bed.  Files Prisoner’s Chronicle

Homelessness: The Circuit

We work in a large, brightly lit room with a high ceiling and concrete floors. Along one cinderblock wall, chairs are lined up, mostly facing outward. This is where we sit for the 15 minutes we get to rest in the middle of our morning shift. Files Prisoner’s Chronicle

True Crime, True Life

My father, deceased for some years already, would have been very happy being in prison. Not because of the food, the filth or the confinement. But because in his salad days he was a crime reporter for the Montreal Star, a daily newspaper that closed its doors in 1978. Files Prisoner’s Chronicle

My Darkest Hour: My Moment of Discovery

I awake in the middle of the night beset by a nightmare. Shaken, tense, I have to write down the contents of my dream. I’m hoping to put my mind at rest, for once. I’m sure that doing this will help me find the solution to the conundrum eating away at my conscience. Files Prisoner’s Chronicle

Dreams and Suicide in Prison

I awake in a sweat, dazed and disoriented. I turn my pillow over to the dry, cold side underneath, and think: a few seconds ago, I was walking along Sherbrooke Street on a sunny summer’s day, rummaging through second-hand bookstores. Not now. My eyes adjust to the dim light. I can discern small straight furrows running between the painted cinderblocks of my cell wall. I am still in jail. Files Prisoner’s Chronicle

Texts in french for this subject: Chroniques d’un prisonnier

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