A Gypsy

This story is a patchwork story, it never happened in the real world, but somehow it is true on a higher level than any real story.
He was an overweight inmate with an almost symbiotic relationship with his mother. The mother was about 15 as she gave a birth to him. They were both children in their souls also during the visitation as the mother told his son that she would die pretty soon because of cancer. And really, the mother looked like a ghost who is already in the twilight zone between life and death. The boy could not cry. He was a mighty inmate and also a gang leader in the prison. Those cannot cry in the front of the others. They cannot cry even being alone. They have a face of stone. No smile and no worry. They can cry within, their hearts can cry. Bloody tears are dripping within the walls of their hearts, like the taps are also dripping in the empty shower rooms at end of the corridor in the night.
The mother died. He could get a sentence suspension and he could be escorted by prison guards to the cemetery but he denied. He did not write the application for the suspension. The social worker who gave him the telegraph could not see anything on his face. He just took the piece of paper and left the room. All the cellmates knew what happened as he was summoned to the social worker. And they knew as well that something terrible will happen when he came back from the office. The whole wing was completely silent for days. You could hear tiny voice in the nights, like a whisper, or almost silent ringing.
He took some tranquillizers from a cellmate and it was quite normal. Just for three days. But he did not stop to take the drugs. It was the moment of his fall. He lost his position in the inmate respect system. He turned to a junky. Nobody tried to harm him. They could very well remember what a mighty giant he was before.
His first rampage came after the first real overdose. He completely destroyed all the fragile items in the cell. The others followed the actual routine, they climbed on the tops of the bunk beds, they tried to stay unharmed, no one of them closed his eyes, but afterwards they told that they did not see anything. If something bad happens in a prison you gave to watch it, if you turn away you betray all the others. However you cannot tell a word about it to the personnel. He was isolated for several days and he got a panic attach in the solitary. He harmed himself and he was not aware what he did completely. Staff stigmatized him as a suicidal. He was never alone in his life for a longer period than the days spent in the solitary. It was almost horrible for him, but this time he had to face the withdrawal as well.
He was transported to the psychiatric bay. He received more potent tranquillizers and also some antipsychotic medicines. He said later that under this treatment he saw his mother, she was pretty young and slim, shiny stunning but just for a second, then her face became at once creasy pale. Her eyes were empty holes. Her nose was missing. Nobody knew this until one of his cellmate sketched a drawing on a skull like tattoo draft. The cellmate wanted to sell this picture to someone else who wanted to have a tattoo on his shoulder, but he took the picture and never gave it back to its owner. He said the picture resembles him to his mother. Nobody dared to say anything.
He was on drugs all the time. He was also replaced to another cell for two. He lived in an open regime. The doors were open during the days, but closed at nights. He was not the guy who he was before. He was donated with the drugs or he was drugged by the others who tried to get rid of him. They tried to push him away to get the power. He was satisfied. He never wanted to be powerful intentionally. His personality was like this. He learned it from the streets, from his father, from the brothers of his father, friends any anybody around him. He was only for his mother vulnerable. He never chatted about these things with his mother and anybody else; someone had to be the leader in the gang. That was it. He was big, he was bigger than almost anybody else. And he was also bright, he was the prodigy of his mother. He was brave and he got respect. All the others looked at him with admiration, foes and common people would not dare to look directly in his eyes or just at him. This was his original living environment. It was like a castle with a diamond in the secret chamber: his mother. Suddenly he lost it.
He spent more days and weeks in the segregation and months in the psychiatry and in a limited duration of time he could see his mother. He was addicted to this delusion. The psychoactive drugs could dig out all the rubbish from his mind, it was like a clean white room with his mother in the middle, all the noises were excluded and he saw a bright star in the middle of the forehead of her mother. Like a third eye. Of course he did not know anything about chakras and third eyes. In total sensory deprivation he found the consciousness, he was happy to live and he felt himself to be awakened. It was like placid psychedelic trance. But all the times it ended in a nightmare. He had to witness the rush decay of this dream when the drugs started to vanish from his body. After the antipsychotic treatment he received a large dose of potent tranquillizers.
After re-entering the wing he was silent for days, but slowly the nightmares came back like flashes. He quickly realized that he can push them back with benzodiazepine pills from the black market. He had to raise the doses time to time, day to day, and at the end right after the first flash he took an overdose. He lived from overdose to overdose, to nightmare to nightmare. Between these he again and again destroyed the cells and anything he just could touch. Nobody dared to share a cell with him, and in the moment as he realized that he was alone, he harmed himself and ended up in the isolation and some hours later in the psychiatry. Psychologists tried to treat him or just to convince him to rid of from the benzos but it was not successful.
He caused pains also for the officers. If he committed something against the rules, staff member had to intervene and after he was isolated they had to work on the reports. When the detailed reports were done an inner inspection followed and all the members of the committees knew pretty well that they can’t do anything to normalize the situation or help him. Not even the prison director. They tried to transport him to another facilities but he always ended up in the host prison which was nationally responsible for the psychiatric treatment of the sentenced prisoners. Also psychiatrists knew him, and in the moments as they saw him at the entrance they started a script like hard day. They needed at least five persons to fixate him to inject the drugs and then they had to do the administration as well.
On a day coming back from the psychiatry he seemed very relaxed, his face was not grey, he could open his eyes properly and close his moth as well. He tried also smile a bit. He said that he was OK, and he just wants to go in his cell and watch TV. But his cellmate was addicted to a show and he did not allow him to watch his favourite music channel. He banged the door and reported to the officers that he is in the mood again. A not well experienced officer was on duty on this fatal day and he thought he would give all the pains back for the inmate. The officer said that he has to wait. Nobody said him this before. He did not know what to do but he stayed calm, just blinked and closed the door of the pinhole. He hit his cellmate with s single strike unconscious, switched the Tele to his channel, took a sharpened spoon from the locker of his cellmate and cut his arms deep to de bones, laid down and waited, as he was instructed before. The cellmate awakened and realized what happened and called for help. Officers saw that the floor was full of blood and the pulse of the inmate was weak. The called the ambulance.
They came after half an hour, it was late night, weekend, and only a transfer ambulance car could come with no medical doctor on the board just a nurse. At the arrival the inmate was already taken out from the cell, he was lying on used and dirty mattress in the middle of the star shaped prison unit. All the light was on during the night to make a better view for the CCTV cameras.
As the nurse entered the scene, he said: “We don’t reanimate suicidal, especially not criminals, especially not Gypsies.”