The Yard (May 17th, 2010)

Flurries of damp snow were beginning to settle in wind driven piles in the corners of the barren yard. Men shuffled around the space, some with limp cigarettes drooping from pinched lips, hands stuffed deep into their pockets. Our thin orange jumpsuits did little to keep the cold out, though.

“Before you say anything, I want you to take a long, hard think… Longer… Longer!… Keep thinking… Keeeeep thinking… Did I say stop thinking?… Longer!”

We were all trying very hard to ignore what was going on Over There. It didn’t pay to interfere, so we concentrated on anything else; the faded lines on the cracked concrete that marked the basketball court, the crumbling brickwork of the walls behind the screen of well maintained electrified wire, or the iron grey sky that produced the snow.

There, a man was on his knees, white t-shirt showing beneath orange cloth that peeled back like the skin of a psychedelic banana, while his tormentors wore fur lined jackets, and warm gloved hands gripped their batons.

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