Monster /
Walter Dean Myers
- 1a. ed.
- New York Harper Collins Publishers 1999
- 281 p.
The best time to cry is at night, when the lights are out and someone is being beaten up and screaming For help. That way even if you sniffle a little they won´t hear you. If anybody knows that you are crying, they´ll start talking about up when the lights go out. There is a mirror over the steel sink in my cell. It´s six inches high, and scratched with the names of some guys who were here before me. When I look into the small rectangle, I see a face looking back at me but I don’t recognize it. It doesn´t look like me. I couldn´t have changed that much in a few months. I wonder if I will look like myself when the trial is over . this morning at breakfast a guy got hit in the face with a tray. Somebody said some little thing and somebody else got mad. There was blood all over the place. When the guards came over, they made us line up against the wall. The guy who was hit they made sit at the table while they waited for another guard to bring them rubber gloves. When the gloves came, the guards put them on, handcuffed the guy, and then took him to dispensary. He was still bleeding pretty bad. They say you get used to being in jail, but I don´t see how. Every morning I wake up and I am surprised to be here. If your life outside was real, then everything in here is just the opposite. We sleep with strangers, wake up with strangers, and go to the bathroom in front of strangers. They´re strangers but they still find reasons to hurt each other. Sometimes I fell like I have walked into the middle of a movie. It is a no beginning. The movie is in black and while, and grainy. Sometimes the camera moves in so close that you can´t tell what is going on and you just listen to the sounds and guess. I have seen movies of prisons but never one like this. This is not a movie about bars and locked doors. It is about being alone and about being scared all the time. I think to get used to this I will have to give up what I think is real and take up sometimes else. I wish I could make sense of it. Maybe I could make my own movie. I could write it out and play it in my head. I could block out the scenes like we did in school. the film will be the story of my life. No, not my life, but of this experience. I´ll write it down in the notebook they let me keep. I´ll call it what the lady who is the prosecutor called me. MONSTER.
0439202175
FICTION --AFRICAN AMERICAN PERCEPTION--FICTION SELF PRISONS--FICTION TRIALS(MURDER)--FICTION READING BOOK