But that notebook—those 210 handwritten pages—is proof that I existed. That I thought. That I felt. In a system designed to dehumanize, was my re-humanization.
Good for a laugh, but too unstable for long-term use. my prison script
Hope in this script is not grandiose; it is scrappy and immediate. It hides in the mundane: the perfect fold of a napkin, the way dawn hits the bricks just so, the exact moment a joke lands and the room erupts. Hope looks like careful planning—a list of small goals stitched across the inside of a shirt: learn calligraphy, finish the story you started, plant a seed in a crack of concrete if you can. It is practical, stubborn, and deeply human. In a system designed to dehumanize, was my re-humanization
To avoid being reported, it is highly recommended to use scripts in controlled, private, or single-player environments. It hides in the mundane: the perfect fold
My story was about a young man who gets a second chance. He leaves prison, reunites with his daughter, and starts a business. Classic redemption arc. But as I wrote, I realized I didn't believe a word of it. I had never met anyone in prison who got a clean second chance. Most of the guys I knew went home and were back within a year.