September 17, 1980
Hello, my name is Franklin Higgins. Today marks a week of me being in this prison and to be honest, I regret my decision to come here. One day, I was walking down the street minding my business and worrying about all the debt I'm in, and then the next day, I found myself in here. When I was younger, I never thought that I'd ever be in this situation, but I guess reality always finds a way to hit you back with bullshit. Now I'm in an orange jumpsuit in a cold cell. At least my black hair looks somewhat decent. The cell I'm in is kind of dull. It's all grey; there's a bunk bed in here, but it's only me. I don't know who was here before me, but whoever they were, they're gone now. It's really hard to sleep in here from the sobbing of grown men or the smell of rotting foods and maybe even people. However, despite being here and everything I have seen so far, I'm surprised by how I've mostly been intact. Mostly. I've seen people in here that look like they have been to hell and back. It's odd to see human eyes that once had a light of innocence get washed away from the person's body as they become dead inside and sometimes even outside as well. I saw one person who looked so pale, he was marked as dead even before he collapsed on the floor. Despite everyone here, I've been one of the few who looks normal. Although that's because I haven't been put in any "games." yet. I'm new here, so I haven't seen too much compared to everyone else here. Some of these people probably have been here for days, months, hell probably even years. I don't want to know what these people go through, so if there was a conversation about it at the lunch tables outside our cells, I walk away or I tune it out. I know I'll have to do these games eventually, but I just don't want to know what happens just yet. Whenever I have to go, that will be when I learn these horrors. Until then, I'll mind my business. I know that doesn't sound like the most strategic thing in the world, but by just looking at people alone I can't help but feel uninterested in knowing the horrors that happen behind closed doors. Besides, my dad always said "if you're not in the situation, just mind your business". Which I am, but not yet. But also, not being in conversation or drama has sort of led me to not have many friends here. Granted it's also probably because I like to steal people's food or money a lot. Some of these guys work as the chefs in the kitchen and they get paid from the guards that work here. Unfortunately, I can't work because I'm a newbie so usually we don't get to work just yet. So, I don't have money like these people to get food in this shitty place. I'm just saying, once someone dies, their money will go to waste. At that point, might as well let someone like me eat their food or steal their money so that way someone will put it to good use. Either if they are alive or not. Although I know no one is going to give me money; I mean, like, it's the only object here that gives off the feeling of being outside this prison. So I guess I understand why they hold onto their money like it's their own baby. It's sad in a way, especially when your own dying moments in here won't be with your family, your friends, or even the people you care about out or in here. You die somewhere else where no one could see you. I don't know much, but what I do know is that it's no heaven or happy place. Well, it's better not to dwell on death right now. In my circumstances, if I don't think about this stuff, I'll be ok. My motto is Live and Forget. I know it sounds like a bad motto to have when every day you have to be on edge because any second you could die; it's just always been a tactic I used most of my life, and I've lived up till this point, so I think it will work still. That's probably also another reason why I don't have friends here. When you have my point of view, people would tend to look at you like you're some freak. Although I don't care about what others think of me, in fact I never had somebody who mattered to me too. It was always a struggle to care about others, even my own family at times. There's a lot of reasons why I am the way I am, but my mom likes to think I started with something that had happened when I was at my grandparents house one time when I was 7 years old, but I can't remember what it was and she never told me what happened. She said something about it being a suppressed memory of mine and that she doesn't want to bring it up for the sake of myself. It's probably for the best that I don't know anyways, so as far as I know, my empathy for others might as well be nonexistent. I find it hard to feel sorry for other people. It takes intense moments for me to feel something, and even then it has to affect me somehow to feel sorry. You could call me selfish all you want, but at least I try to feel something. I'm not a complete monster. I'm far from it; Society has seen worse. I'm like a saint compared to some dictators in the world and I for one take pride in the idea that I'm not so bad myself. It's one of the things that keeps me in check to not lose my mind in this jail. Anyways, I'll keep writing in this journal as I experience this life. The only reason I have this is because the last person that was in my cell left this and never came back for it. So I took it; they never used it, so it's practically mine at this point. Although it is strange because who buys a book to never use it again. Meh, whatever. I'm going to watch more. See what happens next; maybe then I won't be so bored.