I was moved from county jail in October of 2016, following my conviction for armed robbery. I’m not here to garner sympathy, but I want to be clear on a couple of things; this was an unfair sentence. Not in the usual “innocent man put in jail” type of shlock, but in the way that they were clearly pushing me towards being put in a particular jail. I had my blood tested, and my hair was sent to a lab. They took pictures of my fingernails. I’d never seen anything like it, but I was basically catatonic; I was in a bad place. Wanted it all to just be over.

At the time, I didn’t think much about the processing. I didn’t think about the records that were passed between the guards and doctors, and I didn’t care much about the blue rubber stamps that were put at the base of every signed legal document. I didn’t know what was normal and what wasn’t. I just wanted to get into the haze and no-brain the next six or so years away.

​

I was put in a cell with Lian Soon, a Chinese American man. To this day, I don’t have the slightest idea what he was in for. Guy looked like your average college kid, but there was just something off about him. He just had this look of complete dissociation, like he was miles away. He never really looked at you; it was as if he looked straight through you. Then again, a lot of inmates get that. I barely managed to talk to him in the first few days. We agreed that I took the top bunk, but that was pretty much all we managed to talk about.

We had a straightforward schedule. Breakfast and work up ‘til 11, lunch, more work, some yard time, dinner. After that, we either got to our specialized programming time (religious services, NA, anger management, etc) or an extra hour in the yard. Then back in the cell, lights out by 11.

In my first few days, I had to go through a lot of orientation. There were the kind of who’s-who introductions you might expect, but also just someone pointing to which shelf they stock the detergent. Basic stuff.

​

I got a job cleaning the beddings. They were so cheap that a firm enough poke would go straight through ‘em, like a piece of paper. Washing them was basically putting them in a shredder. We had to go on such a low setting that they rarely ever got clean. I swear I saw a cockroach in one of the pillowcases once, and the damn thing was still alive after the wash and dry.

The pillows were also crap. They ripped easily, and feathers would get stuck to everything. Probably wasn’t a room in this whole facility without feathers littering the floor. Hell, they were even in the yard. Most of them were, in fact.

We’d have rotating schedules, so I rarely got to work with the same people two days in a row. I started to recognize a few faces, but people mostly kept to themselves. There was no locker room talk, no braggarts, no bravado; just people hunkering down and shutting up.

But even early on, I noticed something was off. I think it all came down to the yard.

​

People stayed away from the prison yard. No one used the exercise equipment. People just stuck to the walls, or silently walked by the fences. There were no loud conversations, no sports, nothing. And as soon as that free hour was up, people were pushing to get back in. From day one, I got the impression that the yard was a bad place to be, but no one was telling me why. What kind of prison has dust on the free weights?

By the end of the first week, I’d started to get into the routine. I was out cold by 10 most nights. Hell, I had the bedding with the least holes in ‘em, might as well use that luxury.

But there was that one night when I just couldn’t sleep. I’d lay down, and then all of a sudden I’d be wide awake. There was this whistling wind that came down the hall, and it just kept echoing in the back of my head. At first it was a wind, then a whistle. And with no other sound around, it kept growing in my head until it sounded like a goddamn fire truck siren. I’d push my hands against my ears, cover my head in a pillow, but it didn’t do a thing.

Finally, I just started to mutter to myself; just to fill the air with some other noise.

“Please stop,” I’d whisper. “Please stop.”

And the funny thing?

It did. It stopped.

​

The next day, I was exhausted. I kept nodding off. Breakfast, lunch, dinner… pretty much anytime I could sit down. The guards would push me awake, and the other inmates just sort of stared at me. Some of them actively avoided me, like there was something wrong with me. When it was time for the yard, the guards took me aside and asked me to help clean the common area. No yard time for me, gotta sweep some feathers.

That night, I went to bed as soon as I could. But the moment my head hit that pillow I was wide awake again. And down through the hall, there was that howling wind. There was no way for me to sleep. The sound just kept growing, and all my tiredness was just… gone. Whispering didn’t work anymore; I had to speak out loud.

Around midnight, I was still awake. I was just lying there, talking to myself. Putting words to the random thoughts in the back of my head to keep my mind occupied. Anything to drown out that awful droning noise outside. I couldn’t let it grow further. It was like trying to stop a ship from sinking, one bucket of water at a time.

I don’t have the slightest idea how Lian tolerated it, but he didn’t say a word.

​

Things just got worse. I couldn’t sleep that entire night, so when it was time to get up I could barely stand. I fell asleep brushing my teeth, dropping my toothbrush in the sink. I was so used to talking to myself by then that I’d blurt out whatever came to mind. I was sleep deprived, exhausted, and just… confused. And people took notice.

There was this one guy, Marlin, who was about as new as I was. Short, athletic guy who was just itching for a fight. I accidentally bumped into him in the lunch queue, and he went off on me. Pushed me out of the line, bashed me over the face with a tray, and just started whaling on me. The guards were taking their sweet time, so I just had to take it.

But I couldn’t. There was just something in me that wanted to hurt this guy. I grabbed his shirt and looked him in the eyes.

“You wanna get whipped, greenie?” I said. “You want us to whip you?”

I don’t know where the words came from. It was just the first thing that came to mind, and the sleep deprivation just forced it out of my mouth like a hiccup.

“W-what… what did you say?” he stammered.

“I asked if the little greenie wanted a whipping.”

He backed off. His jaw went slack as he just stared at me, unblinking. Just as I’d found words out of nowhere, he’d lost them. His eyes teared up as he backed himself up against a wall. The prison guards came up to restrain us, and I could see all the fight had run out of him.

“See you at the orchard, greenie,” I added. “Whip whip!”

Marlin broke down. He screamed, tears running out of his eyes. He dropped to the floor, and the guards had to carry him out.

I thought I’d feel good after that. But the way everyone was staring at me made me feel like a museum exhibit. I had this sickeningly wide smile painted on my face; but it wasn’t mine. None of this was me. I was losing control, and it scared the hell out of me. I was a puppet.

​

That night, I didn’t even bother trying to sleep. I knew that as soon as I’d lay down to try, I’d just be wide awake again. Instead, I tried sleeping on my feet, or sitting on the floor. This time, Lian couldn’t ignore me. He sat up on his bed, looking at me, instead of through me.

“You on something?” he asked. “You itchin’?”

“Nah,” I said, shaking my head. “Just… broken. Something’s not right.”

“You phobic? Trouble with the walls?”

“Maybe, I-I… I dunno. Can’t sleep.”

”Looks like you sleep all the time, just not in here.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

“They stamp you when you got here? You got any stamps?”

“Some, yeah. Blue ones.”

“Everyone gets blue ones. What shape?”

“Dunno,” I shrugged.

​

Lian took a long look at me. In those few dragging seconds, I could hear the wind outside growing louder, and I winced. I groaned to drown out the noise, but it was barely working. I might have to scream to keep it together for another night.

“They got two stamps,” he said. “A hand, and a sunflower. You sure you don’t know which one you got?”

“Which did you get?” I asked. “What do they mean?”

“I got the hand,” he said. “Most of us did. No idea what it means, but the sunflowers are always a bit…”

He pointed at me, as to make a point.

“Maladaptive.”

“Private prisons,” I chuckled. “Bullshit, all of it.”

Lian leaned back in his bed and closed his eyes.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Sorting us into flowers and hands like a goddamn daycare. Probably got a woodchuck and dolphin stamp too.”

​

Lian was out like a light, but as expected, I couldn’t sleep. I paced back and forth, screamed into a pillow, and tried massaging my ears. The scratching noise sort of helped, but I still found myself restless. Finally, I got out of bed and pressed my head against the door. Maybe if I let the wind howl, it’ll take pity on me. Maybe it would get to a point where it’d either kill me, or stop. I didn’t care which, as long as something happened.

But the strangest thing came to me. As I pressed my head against the door, the sound became clearer. The wind softened to a whistle, and then a gentle hum. The more I tried to lean into it, to listen, the more beautiful it became. Right there, leaning against the door, I had the best sleep of my entire life.

​

The next morning, Lian pulled me up as the guards did their rounds. I’d slept all through the night, and I felt amazing. But even then and there, at my best, I could hear a little piercing sound. That wind, that whisper, was still in the back of my mind; even now during daytime. But all I had to do was lean into it, to listen, and a wave of calm would wash over me. It worried me how easy it was.

“You got through it?” Lian asked.

“I’m getting there.”

​

I wasn’t paying much attention during breakfast. I was zoned out, listening to what’d turned into a melody. Something was speaking to me, but not through words. Through emotions, and sensation. So it wasn’t a word that warned me about Marlin creeping up on me with a sharpened toothbrush. It wasn’t the guards, or the other inmates. No, it was something in the back of my mind screaming at me to hurt him.

So I did.

​

All I heard was laughter. There was this alien joy springing up in my chest, forcing me to my feet. I remember turning around, and the world looking different. I felt four feet taller. I was looking into Marlin’s eyes. But I didn’t see him; I saw a teenage kid running through an orchard, hunted by his older brothers who wanted to beat him with a tire iron.

“Whip whip!”

When I came to, I was still laughing. It wasn’t my own laugh, and neither was the joy. The howling wind was finally quiet, but I felt like a stranger in my own body. I couldn’t feel my limbs, and it took me seconds just to orient myself. To remember my fingers, my feet, my eyes.

Marlin was bleeding on the floor from a dozen wounds. Deep bruising, broken bones. Possibly brain damage from repeated hits to the side of the head. Involuntary twitching, like a fish out of water, his mouth opening and closing. Like me, he just couldn’t find the words.

It looked like I’d beaten him with a goddamn tire iron.

​

I was taken back to my cell without a word, paraded through the halls like a prize. I could feel the other inmates staring at me, trying to figure me out. As soon as I looked their way, I saw them recoil. I don’t know what the hell they’d seen, but they were looking at me like a goddamn monster.

I was locked in my cell for hours. No one was allowed in. And all the while, I kept hearing something in the back of my head, singing to me, asking me to listen just a little closer. And as soon as I resisted, that noise turned to pain.

Within minutes, I was pacing the cell, spewing whatever nonsense came flooding through my mind. Nonsense about everything and everyone, just… noise.

When the guards finally opened the door, I turned to them without skipping a beat. They had their tasers ready.

“Deb doesn’t know if Eddy is really your son,” I rambled. “You think he was premature, but she had that time with Irvin at her job the month before. She thinks about telling you. She thinks that might just be the push you need to finally divorce.”

A taser to the neck, and I didn’t even feel it. As I dropped to the floor in a spasm, my body was screaming with laughter.

“He had her on the copier! She didn’t even think about you! She hoped to see him there again the next week!”

And there, somewhere deep inside, I found my own thoughts and words; standing by as someone else held the reins. I wanted to tear my ears out, to make it all go away, but I couldn’t even move my hands.

I’d listened too long, and too closely, and now the guards were dragging me by the neck.

​

They took me out to the yard. I heard them talking. They were standing next to me, carrying me, but it still sounded like they were in another room. I could barely make out their voices.

“Hatchetmen mixed up the bloodworks,” they said. “Got the wrong class.”

“Shit, we got a bloomer? We had a bloomer this whole time?”

“It’s a goddamn Christmas miracle he didn’t pop his cellie.”

“So why we takin’ him out?”

“Just making sure. Protocol.”

“Fuck protocol.”

“Fuck off.”

​

They left me in the middle of the yard, lining up in a circle around me. The guard I’d been yelling at stayed inside, weeping over a picture. After a few minutes, I felt a tingle in my hands. It felt like being poured back into my body, like my mind was a liquid. It all came back to me, one thing at a time. Language, memories, senses. Choice.

Suddenly, I was standing up. The wind was clearer out in the open. It was colder than expected, and I wasn’t even wearing my shoes. There was a stillness in the air, but there was something menacing to it. Like the eye of a storm.

“Nothing’s happening!” I heard. “We take him in?”

“Hold on. Look up.”

​

From afar, it looked like snow. I didn’t even question it. Snow in mid-July? Sure. Why not.

But it wasn’t snow. A white feather touched my nose.

I looked up into the clouds. And there, far above, I saw something looking back.

I can’t explain what I felt at that moment. It felt like I was looking into an eye in the sky, an impossible physical being, but there was nothing there. And yet, it spoke through me; like playing a mind-game of charades with myself. Pictures flashing in the back of my mind, trying to reach an understanding. Hundreds of memories pounding at the front of my brain every second, like a pitcher being filled up and spilling over the edge.

I got a nosebleed trying to keep up. My eyes rolled back, but I still felt like I was looking up. It was easier to see with my eyes closed. My mouth seized up from trying to find a thousand words at once, instead settling on noises and grunts.

There were parts that were crystal clear. It showed me memories I didn’t know I had. It showed me my eyes opening for the first time, little hands grabbing my mother’s cardigan. Her big 80’s glasses making her eyes look like a cartoon.

It showed me up waking in my crib, reaching for the little toys dancing overhead. And I understood what it meant; that we were born with this instinctual drive to reach beyond our means. To stretch towards the sky. To grab and pull down the unknown to us, making it a part of ourselves.

That the most basic instinct of my being was meant to be here, to do this.

To reach up.

​

“No,” I wheezed.

All was silent.

I looked down, as I floated six feet off the ground.

​

“No!” I groaned.

Memories of long-lost dreams came rushing back. Pleasant thoughts you don’t want to wake from. Promise of love, lust, joy, and comfort. It was all there, just waiting for me to take it. All I had to do was reach for it. To reach into the sky, and take it.

But there was something more. That eye in the sky, looking down at me. Not malevolent, not angry, not evil; just vast beyond comprehension.

I was nothing more than a strand of wheat, being plucked into the air by a curious farmer.

“No! No, no, no!” I screamed.

They came running up to me. Guards grabbed my legs, pulling me down. It felt like I was being torn in half; part of me desperately reaching upwards, and my conscious self holding me to the ground. All the while, the pleasant silence was turning from a whisper to a scream.

“We got it!” a guard yelled as the weather picked up. “Get him outta here! Get him-“

Something let go off me. The guard on my left lost his breath as he suddenly went limp. With nothing but a whistle, I saw him whisked into the sky. Not a word of protest, not a sound. Just a human life growing smaller and disappearing overhead.

I dropped to the ground as they scrambled to get inside. Another guard fell flat on his stomach as something invisible grabbed his ankles. Again, a soft whistle, and he was gone. A spot in the dark.

​

“Run! Come on!”

The other guards were standing by the entrance, holding the doors open. They were waving at me, desperate for me to just… run.

But every part of me wanted to stay. To reach up. To touch the sky and go back to that place I was meant to be. To feel my mother’s cardigan between my baby-soft fingertips, and to look into the night sky with wonder of what could be. It was all there.

And yet, my body knew to run.

​

The moment I got inside, I heard thumping. Chunks of meat sprayed across the yard, fragments of bone getting stuck in the barbed wire. Fabric torn into shreds. Whatever was up there was happy now, and the howling wind was silent.

We all just stood there. I could barely breathe. I’d been so close to surrendering, to give into it. Whatever was up there had no intention of caring for me. There was no love, no joy, no comfort. All it could promise me was a swift death at best, or the life of a sleepless puppet.

But for a moment, we all just stood there. We weren’t inmate and prison guards. In that moment we were just people, trying to understand ourselves.

​

I got processed the next day. They double-checked my blood. Turns out they’d contaminated my result; sloppy work from the esteemed people at Hatchet Biotechnica. This time, I saw them clearly stamp my papers. Blue ink, in the shape of a little sunflower.

I was taken out of state. They said it was a matter of security, on account of getting in fights with Marlin. Apparently he’d broken both legs, and his shoulder. Still, I knew better. This wasn’t a matter of security; this was about fixing a grave mistake. This prison had a purpose, but I wasn’t part of it.

​

Instead, I did my time in a place with no wind, and now I’m out on parole.

​

To this day, I get a shiver up my spine when I hear the whistling wind. I’m scared of my dreams, of my memories. I’m afraid there’s still something in me that wants me to go back; to look up. My psychiatrist, doctor Bogan, tells me I’ve got an agoraphobic trauma to deal with. She says she has some kind of experimental treatment for it, but I don’t know. Overexposure therapy sounds dangerous.

But even now, I find myself suddenly waking in the middle of the night. My body talking to itself. Telling truths I couldn’t possibly know to an empty room. Sometimes not even in my own language. Sometimes in no language at all.

Every now and then, a white feather still lands on my shoulder.

And I just know that looking up will be the end of me.

Or the start.