Epidemic

There's a reason we never really get to see the transition from life in the outside and life behind bars. It's too intimate. It's too personal and once I'm in, I can't seem to find my way out.

Carlos Sandiego. 34 years old. Crime? Raping and murdering several women in his home town of Ocean Springs, Mississippi. The reason? Because why the fuck not. That's what he said.

Now I knew his name - we all did.

We were huddled around the television, watching as Carlos was guided down a long, dark corridor of cells. The lines of the bars slowly dancing across their emotionless faces; they moved with a grace that was both forceful and forgiving. Although Carlos was stiff, he tried not to show it.

Fear. A disembodied voice made its way into our home, crackling as the television flickered from the rain outside.

"The United States of America is proud to announce it's newest creation. The epidemic. It is to be installed in every prison in America as the newest option next to death row. It is only for our most dangerous offenders. A transfer that will hurt few, but heal many. A system that we hope to implement not just across the country, but the entire world. God bless"

As the voice faded out the entire room fell silent.

The layout was like this. I can recall it almost as if it had just happened yesterday:

Martie Williams, a woman slowly dying from an ebolavirus infection, lies peacefully on a gurney in a glass room. Doctors with pained looks on their faces surround her. Carlos is placed in the room beside her. The only thing connecting them was a gas tank and a tube stemming from William's veins.

It was not a familiar sight, nor was it a pleasant one.

Carlos wonders what is going on as the guards that lead him to the room start to leave one by one. Soon, he is left alone. He was told he'd be put in a cell, but this was nothing like he had imagined. There were no bars, there was no bed or toilet or chair - there was nothing. All he could see was his own reflection staring back at him. He pleaded to be let out as he did not plan to spend confinement trapped, only having to look back at his own face. However, it was too late for them to turn back now.

A large blue gas started to fill his chamber. The more it filled the room the less we saw of Carlos and the more Martie started to come to. The rooms we presumed to be soundproof as we could not hear what was being said. We just simply watched as Carlos began to gasp for air, grabbing at his throat and falling to his knees. I remember trying to look away, but my father insisted that I watched. He did not say it out loud, but I could tell from his eyes that this was something I was meant to see.

Within seconds Carlos started to develop a rash across the length of his arms and began to vomit on the floor. He looked sickly and his eyes seemed to droop like imaginary hands were pulling them down.

It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. The screen goes black.

In shock, we keep our gazes towards the screen as if continuing to watch it will magically answer every question running through our minds. Instead, these words appear across the screen:

Dear citizens, Carlos Sandiego has been transmitted the Ebola virus from patient Williams. Without proper treatment, he will soon die an agonizing death. Within this advanced technology, we can save the innocent lives of those like Martie and give the suffering to a more deserving subject. The contents of the gas allow the disease to seep under the skin of only those in the infection chamber and will only take mere seconds to take full effect over the criminal's body. This is the future of our prison system - this is the solution for injustice