Squeaking Shoes

Author: john

The first thing I heard was the squeaking shoes.

That’s how I knew something was wrong. I was in the dayroom at Wilcox when it started — just sitting there, and then the noise. Squeaking shoes on the floor. That sound is part of my PTSD now. I hear it and I’m right back there.

The noise level rose so fast. People running everywhere. I tried to get back to my cell, but it was hard just to move. There were bodies going in every direction, and some of them had weapons. Big homemade knives. Machetes. A gang war had started, just like that, no warning except the shoes.

I share a cell with two other men. One of them was in the gang that was fighting, so he was out there in the middle of it. I was just trying not to get killed.

Then I saw the young man fall.

I don’t know if he slipped on a pool of blood or if he just passed out from losing too much of his own. I didn’t see him until he was already on the ground. And then, immediately, four gang members jumped on him. All Bloods. They stabbed him. It was awful.

He didn’t move after that. He was clearly dead.

No one touched him. No one tried to help him. I was in shock. I think everyone was. A few people were banging on the windows, trying to get the officers’ attention.

It took about an hour.

By the time the officers finally showed up, the gangs had cleaned up all the blood — except for the pool under the dead man. There were no cameras. No one was going to tell who did what. That would get you killed.

The dorm was locked down for weeks. They moved a few people out while we were on lockdown, but it wasn’t the ones responsible for the fight or the murder. The people who actually did it? They stayed right there with us.

Then, I guess the staff decided we’d been punished enough, so everything went back to the way it was before. Nothing changed.

That’s how it works in there. The prison staff only use group punishment. There’s no personal responsibility. No incentive to do right. Whether you do right or wrong, you’re still going to be punished. So why bother?

I didn’t do anything. I just watched a man get murdered. And I got locked down for weeks like I was the one holding the knife.