Last Updated 06 Jul 2020

Prisoner – Creative Writing

Essay type Creative
Words 712 (2 pages)
Views 356

At least the sun's shining on this old decrepit prison. I can't understand why they've put me in this remote room, alone. I've just arrived. From the 1st of December until my last breath, you would expect to be greeted with open arms, wouldn't you? It's not like she didn't deserve it...

Meeting our new friends will be as amusing as reading - I can't think of anything worse. I'd rather listen to her baby wail, scream and shriek again. I sometimes wonder what happened to that baby, watching its mum suffer.

Time is valuable, so I won't waste it with those 'freaks', they're all the same - worthless vermin. Well they'll see, I have got it all planned out.

Haven’t found the relevant content? Hire a subject expert to help you with Prisoner – Creative Writing

Hire verified expert

Dear Jason,

It's hell here. I feel like Satan's minion, sweeping, scrubbing, and sweating in this 'hell-hole'.

An insignificant ant challenging the irrefutable Mount Everest - each step is an anxious challenge; as for every single stride I make, I end up stumbling back. Pointless.

There is a burden of anxiety and mental suffering depicted in the face of every man, as we are all pampered like peasants; especially Little Bill, he can't defend himself so everyone takes advantage.

I've just been placed with Derrick my new cellmate, the old fool's fifty, twice my age; his senseless stories of driving his own crane in 'the good old days' shuttles you towards insanity - without mentioning his nauseating scar which runs the length of his face; my stomach convulses when I gaze upon it. Sneering when he answers 'How did that happen?'- He fell down flight of stairs; he must think I'm mad to believe him. That's the other problem, I can't trust anyone - I will need to eventually though.

'Bro', when you next visit Mum's grave can you leave a bunch of roses from me; she always cherished the aroma they produced: even though I still hate them. Do you know she's the only thing that's keeping me going? If only she hadn't taken that job as 'her' assistant none of this would have happened. Mum didn't deserve so much pressure, she was only the 'messenger' doing as she were told, without a wink of sleep in over two weeks a car accident was inevitable.

But I have no remorse for what I did to 'June', revenge is sweet.


I am gazing through the confined window; the icy steel bars obstruct my route from death. The frenzied frost tearing at my tender hands. I'll be out there soon, we will be free, I can smell it. Old, dilapidated and weathered; these bricks can't withhold us. From slavering away in the kitchen at a Kings pace a few helpful utensils have been gathered; a carving knife, spoon and fork. These can be stored inside the T.V; no one would bother looking there.

'Derrick? Where are you, idiot, get here. You've worked in the demolishing business for long enough; tell me, can we burst through now?'

'Too right son, too right.'

'Luckily this fork and spoon has lasted from wear, but it looks the knife won't be needed 'aye Del'.' 'It's getting late my boy, move your rock of a bed back to its normal spot. The incessant stomping of the pigs will soon pass our cell. We must wait until dusk.'

The moon's beams of lurid light echoed through the prison. A steely smell of anxiety overhauled the sound of the snoring from the convicts. This was nearly it. Weeks of planning boiled down to this. Thankfully, I'm fearless, this time I will get away, we will be free 'Jimmy.' We could go, now? Just leave Derrick; he's someone we can't trust anyway. We should desert him; he would soak up all the blame.

Droplets of blood were dripping on the floor; my hands sore and weeping from pounding powerful punches like a boxer at the gapping hole in the corner of the cell - I only had to make it half a foot wider whilst being quiet as possible. A seed of adrenaline sprouted inside me, the round circle in the wall had subsided. It was time. Psyching myself was easy, I knew what had to be done.

'ESCAPEE, AN ESCAPEY!' I turn around horrified, standing still paralyzed. Derrick? 'No it can't be, y-you set me up?!' Glaring him straight in the face - I had no choice...

Haven’t found the relevant content? Hire a subject expert to help you with Prisoner – Creative Writing

Hire verified expert

Cite this page

Prisoner – Creative Writing. (2017, Oct 15). Retrieved from

Not Finding What You Need?

Search for essay samples now

We use cookies to give you the best experience possible. By continuing we’ll assume you’re on board with our cookie policy

Save time and let our verified experts help you.

Hire verified expert