For the Love of Freedom

Mr. Warden,

Today when we were checking K00975’s cell, we found these papers. It appears to be a journal outlining his plans for several escape attempts over the past few years, though the documents planning his escape in detail are missing from the bundle. I was unsure what to do with them or what it means for prisoner security going forwards. So, I thought I would provide them to you to look over and determine a correct course of action.

I trust your judgment, sir,

Officer Feliday

January 18th

My name is Paul, but don’t tell anyone I said that.

According to this place, I am K00975, Kerarian Prisoner Number 975. That is my name according to every other human being I talk to in this place, and if they hear me refer to myself by any other one, I will be beaten and sent to The Pit.

But here, writing to you, I can be truthful. I am Paul of Keraria, a prisoner of war held here in Damani tan Prison. I’m 30 years old and already balding, probably from the stress of fighting this damn war.

I’m writing this memoir on any scrap paper I can find and hiding it in a small hole I dug out behind my toilet. I’m writing this to document my escape plans in hopes that whoever is imprisoned here next will be able to follow my instructions and flee this place as well. With any luck, these writings will be short and straightforward. More will come soon, though hopefully, there aren’t too many.

For the love of freedom,

Paul of Keraria

January 30th

Did you know your prison suit is one of the most durable fabrics there are? For the points they lose in style and comfort, they make up for in the fact that one outfit can most likely clothe an inmate for the entire duration of their sentence, Military grade, they keep telling us.

I’m going to use that to my advantage. When I was picking up my laundry today, I pulled a pair of pants out of a different inmate’s bag, it was Jenson, one of the new guys, so if I had gotten caught, I wouldn’t have been in that much trouble. I cut open my mattress using a fork I stole from the mess hall and stashed the stolen pants in there. Over the next few weeks, I will be gathering extra outfits in bulk to use in my escape attempts.

However, you shouldn’t gather any clothes until you read through the entire plan.

I know you’re reading this in the future, so it’s not worth anything now, but wish me luck.

For the love of freedom,

Paul of Keraria

February 15th

They searched my cell today; they always do the individual cells first. The big guards with tasers and batons always at the ready. They flipped my mattress, went through my drawers, and even sent poor Joseph in to dig his little hand around in my toilet.

That was the scariest moment to me, that prisoner’s hand so close to these notes, of course, separated by metal pipes and porcelain, but still. It made my heart pound violently in my chest.

I’m too old for this. I’m going to be completely bald by the time I escape this place.

Beware random cell checks. They don’t give you time to hide anything you may have left out in the open. Keep everything in good hiding spots.

I was so lucky they didn’t find the hole. My mattress is around 60% stolen clothes at this point, so them finding that would have been disastrous.

For the love of freedom,

Paul of Keraria

March 5th

They caught me with a stolen shirt last night. I got lazy. As a result, I spent the night in The Pit.

If you’re lucky enough to have not been there yet, please do everything in your power to avoid it. It’s a blindingly bright room, so bright it’s impossible to see anything. You’re up to your waist in mud, garbage, and God knows what else, bugs are everywhere. You’re told to dig through the mud and find a key, they leave you in The Pit all night, and if you haven’t found the key come morning, well, the older prisoners say that they drown you in the mud and leave your body there to add to the rest of the waste. Of course, I don’t believe that, but I’ve also never met somebody who didn’t find the key in time.

All I know is I better be gone soon.

March 8th

I’ve been thinking the mud and trash in The Pit has to come from somewhere. Throughout my time there, I felt like more would come in and out as the hours went on. I realized there has to be some outlet or inlet that all of that stuff comes from, so as much as I hate to say it, I’m going to try to get myself in The Pit twice more. Once to see if I can escape and tell you about it, and the other time to escape myself.

Am I looking forward to it? No, but if I can find some kind of sewer system that feeds and drains The Pit, I can probably find another exit that we can use to escape.

Perhaps in punishing us for escaping, this place has made a way out.

For the love of freedom

Paul of K.

March 13th

It’s not worth it.

Don’t go there.

The Pit is Hell on Earth. If there is an escape there, you have a better shot at just rotting here.

May 4th

It’s difficult to plan nowadays. Every time I think about escaping, my heart starts to pound in my chest, and it feels like a heavy weight is pressing against my lungs, pressing all of the air out and preventing me from being able to breathe back in. I thought that writing out my plans would make them seem more possible in my head, but I’m beginning to worry that they’re hindering me instead. I can’t even talk to any other prisoners now. I’m scared that I’d let something slip. I’m so happy I was considered too dangerous to be given a cellmate. It keeps a lot of suspicion off of me by them.

I need to keep going. I have no choice. I wrote these notes to help whoever is in this hellhole after me, and if I stop now, I’m just dooming us both to die here. I can’t do that.

Not again…

We’re in this together. We’re more than just numbers. I can do this so that you can do this.

For the love of freedom.

Paul.

May 7th

Did you know I killed all my friends?

It’s true, my entire squad.

We were crossing through enemy territory. I thought the coast was clear, so I signaled for the rest to join me. As soon as they moved out of their spot, gunfire lit up the swamp. They all died that day, except for me. I wasn’t as lucky.

I was put here.

One of my best friends died in that attack. He had a wife at home who was expecting a child soon. Nobody knows what happened to us, whether we’re alive or dead.

What I did.

I owe them all, I need to escape and get home, so they can learn what happened to us and avenge my squad.

Maybe that’s why I’m writing these notes to you, not only so that you can escape, but to help keep my eyes on the prize. If my instructions help you, I can help somebody instead of leading them to their death.

It would be nice if I could save somebody for once.

For Freedom

Paul.

June 10th

They found the hole they cut in the mattress, the one I was filling with laundry. It was empty, of course. I had put all the laundry back after they caught me with the shirt. But it was still a half-empty mattress with a big hole in one side. I was so scared, certain that I was going back to The Pit, but something amazing happened. I told them the truth, and they didn’t punish me for it. They thanked me for telling them the truth, took the damaged mattress, and left.

Even though I slept on the hard wooden board my mattress sat on, it was the best night’s sleep I had ever had. The total relief I felt having that secret taken off my mind was totally unexpected.

Don’t get me wrong, I would never willingly show the guards any of my escape plans. There’s no way I would be that stupid. But it’s nice to know that I might not be punished as severely as I thought.

For freedom.

Paul.

June 27th

As happy as I am that I wasn’t punished, I wish they would replace my mattress, seeing it’s been two weeks, and they haven’t even told me that they were working on it.

No matter, if all goes well, I won’t need one much longer. I finally have a plan that I can be proud of. For the last week and a half, I’ve been making a lockpick out of forks from the mess hall. All I need is to get it to the right shape, and I will be able to try and pick the lock from the inside. After that, I can swipe a keycard from the Officer’s lounge, and, well, we’ll figure that part out later.

I’m keeping the broken utensils in the same place as these notes. The little hole is apparently really hard to find.

I’ll write to update you as I continue my plan.

Freedom.

Paul.

June 30th

My heart is pounding right now, my fork broke in the lock, and when the guards came to open the door, it got jammed, I can’t get the little metal bit out, and my pulling at it does nothing.

I don’t know what to do, I can’t just leave it in there, but if I tell the guards, I’m screwed.

Why did I think making a lockpick out of utensils would be a good idea? Now I’ve broken my door, and I’m going back to The Pit

What do I do?

July 2nd

I went outside today; we were taken out to pick up trash along the highway.

Do you remember the outside by now? I’d totally forgotten about it. It’s been so long since I was outside. It was all wet and muddy, with bugs everywhere…It was awful.

Digging through knee-high mud, trying to find garbage fast enough for the people watching us, almost too bright for me to even see right. It was just another version of The Pit.

It sends shivers down my spine.

Is it really worth escaping if I’m just running into The Pit?

July 18th

Today was absolutely terrifying, the Guards locked me in my cell for the night, and I was going to bed just like every time before, but suddenly I remembered the piece of the fork stuck in the locking mechanism.

Slipping silently out of bed, I snuck over to the door and tried to pry the piece out.

Then the sound of my cell door unlocking echoed through the dark hallway. I had just picked the lock of my door!

I panicked, there wasn’t going to be a guard for another two hours, and the side door was still unlocked! What if someone in another block heard that? Anything that came through there would have a straight shot at my now unlocked room! I tried to lock the door again, but the piece was stuck tight, so I pulled the door shut and sat in the corner of my room, trying to calm myself down.

They’re going to search my room when they find the door unlocked. What if they find these stupid notes I’m writing to myself? That would be worse than The Pit. That would be worth them sending me outside to pick up trash again.

I can’t let that happen. I’m going to flush the ones where I actually begin putting plans of escape together and turn the rest of them into the guards come morning.

Why did I waste so much time and put myself in so much danger, writing to someone who never even existed?

Why did I think I could play hero by sitting here and writing to an imaginary audience?

No more.

For the love of security,

K00975

Mr. Warden,

As you can see, K00975 is proof that The Pit is having the desired effect on the prisoners, though his diagnosis of anxiety may have played a vital role in the shift throughout these notes. He handed them to me first thing this morning when I came to unlock his cell door and found that it was open. I’m not sure what to do in terms of punishment for attempted escape. I worry that punishment may reinvigorate his escape attempts.
I’m leaving the decision in your hands, Mr. Warden. I’ve already ordered a search of his cell to attempt to find any of the other papers he alluded to, the ones with actual escape attempts documented. If we find them, we will send them to you for you to determine the best course of action in stopping any of our more motivated inmates from making an attempt to escape.

For the love of freedom, Mr. Warden,

Officer Feliday