The prison
I found myself alone on a long road, covered with dirt and thick mud. I walked slowly and wearily because every step felt heavy, as though I were wearing shoes made of iron. At the end of the road flowed a narrow stream, crossed by a small wooden bridge. Beyond the stream was a community filled with people, laughter, and happiness. But the closer I got, the heavier my steps became. The deeper I walked, the more my legs sank into the thick mud, and the more I lost control of my own body. Still, I refused to give up. I kept walking.
I was still struggling through the mud when a piercing sound rang deep in my ears. It seized control of my body, leaving me unable to move. My strength faded, my vision blurred, and my eyes slowly surrendered to the darkness. They finally shut, and my entire body sank into the mud.
Then I opened my eyes.
I woke up in a prison cell, lying on a cold, unwelcoming mattress placed on an iron frame. The sound of the alarm still echoed in my ears, reminding me of the dream I had just left behind.
I didn’t know how I had ended up there. I felt like a newborn baby with no memories. Everything looked unfamiliar—a new world, a new beginning with no past.
At the far end of the small cell lay a woman on a rough mattress similar to mine. We wore the same orange prison uniform. I tried to remember who she was, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even remember yesterday. My mind was blank, as though nothing had ever been written into it.
Maybe I’m on another planet, I thought. Maybe this is just another dream.
The alarm finally stopped, and my ears welcomed the silence. Every cell door opened except mine. The inmates filed into the hallway while I remained where I was.
I lay back down. My feet felt cold, and my heart refused to stop pounding. I couldn’t tell whether it was fear or anxiety. In truth, I wasn’t even sure I remembered what those feelings were. My body felt strangely hollow, as though there was nothing left inside me.
I felt like a shadow.
⸻
The cell door creaked open, and two people stepped inside—a woman in a correctional officer’s uniform and a man carrying a black medical case.
I sat motionless on the edge of my bed, staring at them. I didn’t even know what blinking was anymore. I only closed my eyes when I wanted to dream.
“Good morning, Emmy,” the doctor said with a gentle smile.
Emmy?
Who was Emmy?
Was that supposed to be me?
The questions echoed through my mind.
“She’s been acting strangely these past few days,” the officer said. “She barely blinks, and she doesn’t even remember her own name.”
She was a middle-aged white woman with blonde hair tied neatly behind her head. Her large blue eyes carried sympathy rather than authority, and her voice was softer than I expected from a prison officer.
The doctor walked closer.
“I’m Dr. Shaw,” he said calmly. “I’m your physician.”
He looked Chinese, probably in his fifties. His hair was short and dark, with a few strands of grey. His narrow eyes watched me carefully, as though he were studying every movement I made.
“What is your name?” he asked.
I stared back without answering.
He waited a moment before asking another question.
“Do you remember what happened yesterday?”
Silence.
“Do you remember me?”
I continued staring.
“Do you know today’s date?”
Nothing.
Finally, I looked into his eyes.
“Did I… have a past?”
A gentle smile crossed his face.
“Yes,” he replied softly. “You do. But don’t force yourself to remember. Memories sometimes return when the mind is ready.”
He opened his medical case, took out a small tablet, and handed it to me with a bottle of water.
I hesitated.
“I promise I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said. “It’s Donepezil. It may help improve your memory.”
After a moment, I swallowed the tablet.
The doctor nodded, then left the cell with the officer.
⸻
The woman on the mattress beside mine slowly sat up.
She had been watching us the whole time.
“You’d better remember your past,” she muttered while scratching her thinning grey hair. “Otherwise they’ll keep feeding you those pills.”
She looked old enough to be my grandmother. Age spots covered her dark skin, and deep wrinkles stretched across her tired face. Yet when she smiled, something about it felt comforting.
She slowly walked toward me with a slight bend in her back.
“You have to remember,” she repeated, gently patting my hand with her rough, weathered fingers.
Her hand was surprisingly warm.
“Can I use the toilet?” I asked.
“Of course, dear.”
She pointed toward a small door in the corner of the cell.
I hadn’t even noticed it before.
Inside was a tiny toilet, a small sink, and a shatterproof mirror fixed to the wall.
I stood before the mirror.
A stranger stared back at me.
My face looked strong, with sharp features and defined muscles. My body looked healthy.
But inside…
I felt empty.
Weak.
Like my body belonged to someone else.
I looked down into the toilet water and saw my reflection ripple.
Even that face didn’t feel like mine.
⸻
When I returned, the woman was gone.
I hadn’t heard the cell door open.
Where did she go?
I didn’t care enough to wonder.
I lay back on the mattress and closed my eyes.
Maybe if I dreamed again…
I’d remember something.
A face.
A name.
A family.
Anything.
⸻
The woman returned carrying two trays of food.
“I managed to get an extra one for you,” she said proudly.
She handed me a plate of mashed potatoes before sitting beside me.
“You need to eat. Your body needs strength.”
I scooped up a spoonful and tasted it.
Nothing.
No flavour.
It was like my tongue had forgotten how to taste.
I kept eating anyway.
Fast.
The emptiness inside me demanded more.
When my plate was empty, I looked down at it, still hungry.
Without saying a word, the woman pushed her own tray toward me.
“You can have mine.”
I looked at her.
“Go on.”
I hesitated.
She smiled.
Within moments, I had finished hers as well.
⸻
She was kind.
Kinder than anyone I’d met since waking up.
Maybe…
Maybe she knew something about me.
“Did you know me before?” I asked quietly.
She stared at me for several seconds.
“You really don’t remember anything, do you?”
I slowly shook my head.
“You’ve been here for six months,” she said.
Six months?
The words hit me like cold water.
“Everyone calls you a psycho,” she continued. “But I never believed them.”
She smiled again.
“I’m probably your only friend in this place.”
I couldn’t understand it.
If I had been here for six months…
Why did everything feel completely new?
The woman sighed.
“Do you know why I care about you so much?”
I shook my head again.
“I had a son about your age. He lost his memory after a terrible car accident.”
Her smile faded.
“I watched him struggle every single day. That’s why I understand what you’re going through.”
She gently squeezed my hand.
“You just need time, Emmy.”
I looked into her eyes.
For some reason…
They felt familiar.
“No… you don’t,” I said quietly.
“What?” she asked.
“You don’t know how I feel.”
I looked away.
I was certain she didn’t know what I was feeling. She probably didn’t even know how her own son had felt. Pain wasn’t something people could share. No matter how much they loved you, they could never truly carry your memories, your fears, or your suffering.
She smiled gently and took my hand.
“Oh, dear,” she said softly. “Maybe I don’t know exactly how you feel. But I know what it’s like to watch someone you love disappear little by little.”
I lowered my eyes to her wrinkled hand resting on mine. It was warm… strangely comforting.
Even so, I wished she would leave.
I wanted to dream again.
“Would you excuse me?” I asked.
She looked at me, confused.
“Excuse you?”
“Yes. I want to sleep.”
“Of course, dear.”
She stood up slowly and walked back to her mattress.
As she lay down, I heard her murmur to herself,
“She’s still as distant as she’s always been.”
I had barely closed my eyes when a loud buzzer echoed through the prison, signaling the start of morning recreation. Cell doors clicked open one after another as inmates filed out toward the recreation yard.
“We have to go outside,” the old woman said as she got to her feet. “Fresh air does the body good.”She walked out, and I followed.
The recreation yard was already crowded with inmates. Different gangs. Different races. They stood in separate groups, talking, laughing, or watching one another with cautious eyes.
I stood still, unsure of what to do.
Then I spotted the old woman sitting with a group of female inmates. She smiled and waved me over.
I walked toward them and sat beside her.
The moment I sat down,other women immediately stood up and took a step back.
“I told you,” she said, glaring at the me , “they call you a lunatic.”
I didn’t care, though. I didn’t even remember who they were.I leaned back and stared at the sky. My eyes followed the birds gliding across the clouds before drifting back to the ground. I felt strangely uncomfortable.
Suddenly, loud shouting caught my attention.I turned toward the noise.
A group of female inmates had surrounded another woman. I couldn’t hear what they were arguing about, but I watched as they exchanged punches. Then one of the women slipped a small knife from beneath her clothing and stepped toward her victim.
Just as she was about to stab her
Bang!
A gunshot echoed across the recreation yard.
The woman immediately stopped. Every inmate lowered their heads as several correctional officers rushed into the yard.
“Break it up!” one of the officers shouted.
The guards quickly restrained the women involved in the fight, handcuffed them, and escorted them back into the prison while the rest of the inmates watched in silence.
I couldn’t help but wonder how I had survived in a place like this. If I had really been here for six months, then I must have endured things far worse than what I’d seen today.
The words lunatic and psycho echoed in my mind.
Why did they call me that?
No one spoke to me. No one came near me. They kept their distance, watching me from afar.
Was it respect? Or fear?
I couldn’t tell.
My mind filled with questions. What had I done before I lost my memory? What kind of person had I been?
Just as I was lost in thought, I felt someone tap me gently on the shoulder.
I turned around.
Standing behind me was a slim white woman, probably in her early forties. One side of her head was shaved, while the other was covered with shoulder-length hair dyed a bright purple. A faint grin spread across her face.
“Yo, girl,” she said. “When did you get out?”
Before I could answer, she continued,
“I heard you went completely blank again. They wouldn’t even let you come out to the yard.”
I looked at my cellmate, silently asking for an explanation. She caught my expression immediately.
“This is Helena,” the old woman said. “She’s the fortune teller around here.”
She paused for a moment before adding with a smile,
“She’s your friend too.”
Helena chuckled.
“Don’t strain your brain trying to remember everything,” she said.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a worn deck of cards.
“Maybe these will bring your memories back.”
She shuffled the cards with surprising speed before fanning them out in front of me.
Then she burst into loud, almost unsettling laughter.
“Go on,” she said, her grin widening. “Pick a card, Emmy.”
