Colors-Personal Narrative

Brutal terror engulfs me nightly as I struggle to sleep. As I close my eyes I see butcher knives flashing around me and I open my eyes in terror hoping I’m not living this nightmare again. My life has become terror and pain which I cannot escape from, a daily torture that will not subside. I cling to the hope that one day this condition will end and I will have a happy, normal life. I cling to this hope through decades of suffering and carrying a heavy cross; the weight of which I no longer feel for I am so used to carrying it. In extreme fear and pain, I will do anything for relief; anything that will ease the terror and numb the pain. My life spirals down into an involvement in illegal activities for with the money gained safety can

I do not have any issues with the story How it Feels to be Colored Me because Zora explained her perception. I could feel her pain or going from an innocent child who sees no color to another era that sees color before it sees you as a human being. I imagine her shock when she leaves a town that is primarily Black and ventures to a town where Whites are the majority. I guess this was another lesson that she had to learn the hard way as many Blacks do. I do admire her courage to walk with her head held high and to appreciate the differences between Whites and Blacks. The bottom line as she stated, we are all made from one God so that makes us the same with different characters and features.

Too black for the White kids, yet somehow too white for the Black kids, oh the perils of a cappuccino mixed race kid. But it’s true. My life since I was young, at least younger than my eighteen year old self, has been about which group do I most fit in with. Between the four school changes over the course of twelve years, all in white suburban towns I’ve molded myself into an array of characters.

A study conducted in California’s prison system from 1999 to 2004 determined that nearly half of all suicides committed by inmates were because they were in solitary confinement (Breslow, 2014). Although some inmates have failed at their suicide attempts, that does not mean that they have not attempted to end their lives. There is a higher rate of inmates self mutilating while being in solitary confinement than if they were in the general prison population (Breslow, 2014). This means that inmates that are isolated are more of a danger to themselves. Being in solitary confinement also attributes to personality disorders, Breslow mentioned that many inmates lose the ability to communicate with others after being in solitary confinement for a long period of time and thus do not want to leave their cells (2014). It can be argued that having inmates in solitary confinement is a human rights violation. When inmates are isolated, they are constantly being monitored through a camera. The inmates have no form of communication with people and even their food is passed through a slot on the door. Solitary confinement can be considered torture because it has been proven that by subjecting inmates to this they experience mental illnesses such as paranoia, hallucination, panic attacks, and suicidal attempts (Breslow, 2014).

The horrors of solitary confinement. One man named Gabriel Eber who was a prison inmate at East Mississippi Correctional Facility retells the horrors of solitary stating “Men are kept in small, unsanitary isolation cells with scant human attention for months and years. Self-mutilation and suicide attempts are not uncommon (Rienzi, 2015)”. There are thousands of inmates who spend 23 hours a day, in a windowless cell alone without human interaction. One account from Kate Edwards who runs an advocacy group known as “Wisdom” in one of New York State’s correctional facilities states “They would change in disturbing ways”, “They became unkempt, less able to focus. As the weeks went by, they would look more and more distressed. I was watching them disintegrate. (Lueders, 2015)”. The reality is that inmates that are locked away from 23 hours a day for weeks or even years, facing severe repercussions that ultimately do more harm than good. Inmates are locked away and having no interaction at all and nothing to do. “They face crushing depression and anxiety. They scream and cry. They slash and bite their own flesh. They smear feces on the wall. They try to kill themselves with pens, paperclips, bed sheets, with metal from

Red light floods the room when the only exit opens. My heart stops, but I still stand up. I still stand up and march towards the guards here to escort me, and all the while I can feel my throat refusing to

The worker contacted Misty Black who is a friend of Brittany Hardin. Mrs. Black stated “Brittany was in a situation where her ex (well she told me they were already broken up at the time) had assaulted her. Brittany had called me after Ronita Grady had hit her so I immediately called the police and made my way to Brittany. When I arrived the OCPD were already there speaking to Brittany. The officers also spoke to me and I told him I was the one who called them. After the police left Brittany and the boys stayed with me for a couple days because Brittany was still shaken up. The boys all seemed okay, I don’t think they really knew what had just happened. Brittany thanked me for helping her, because at the time we weren’t really speaking to

At the sleep away camp that I attended this summer, I was appointed "General" for an all camp activity known as Color War. For four days, the camp is divided into two teams that compete against each other in athletics and other competitive activities. Having been selected out of 400+ campers to take on this elite position was such an honor - I cried tears of happiness. While acting general was extremely rewarding, it quickly became a challenge. Carrying the responsibility to lead cheers, hold team meetings, while making sure the people I led were happy and enjoying the most exciting days of camp was nothing short of nerve-racking. However, every challenge I faced during those four days made each experience that more rewarding , even if my

Solitary confinement commits an individual to small room closed off from the world; a room devoid of light and human interaction for nearly twenty three hours a day. Not only is the morose environment and isolation unhealthy, but it contributes to increased recidivism rates, sometimes referred to as the revolving door phenomenon. Although solitary confinement provides the staff and general prison population with safety, there are alternatives that can be used rather than continuing the revolving door with the cruelty, expensiveness, and ineffectiveness of solitary.

These walls mock me. I can't escape this confinement. I've studied everything in my cell, the walls, the floor, bed, door, window, every pattern, every inch top to bottom. I see scars carved into the wall from people counting their days away. I count every second, minute, hour that i'm stuck in here, everyone seems to be longer than the next. It's hard not to think back to that moment but sometimes I can't help it. His voice fills my thoughts, every time I hear him it brings me back to that moment. The cool air of the night whistled through my town, as i turn off my car i hear the engine cutting off. I stop take and take a deep breath, i reach over to the glove box and grab the glock 45 the cold steel touches my hand. I put it in my jacket and walk into the store. I hold the gun up to him and say “give me the money” his face drops he tells me you don't want to do this to stop, it's too late now though there's no turning back. He throws the money on the floor, as i go to pick it up he grabs something from under the counter. I freak out and pull the trigger, i didn't mean to, i didn't want anyone to get hurt. It feels fake replaying over and over. Every sound, every smell, every emotion. I remember the whole night. I can't do

I took a moment to absorb my surroundings. An unbearable silence occupied the room. The only thing that could be heard was dripping coming from a leak in the roof that streamed down onto a puddle on the floor. This place has become unbearable, and it’s starting to get extremely strenuous surviving here, but escape would be impossible. The last person who accompanied me in this place always talked about it, he would spend restless nights obsessing over every inch of the tiny room. Taking down notes and measurements on a scrap of toilet paper, using a pencil he had managed to sneak in past the initial weapons check. He thought he had it all figured out. On the third night I awoke to a part of the wall missing, my cellmate was gone but outside I could hear shouting and gunshots. Quickly I gathered this was the night all his planning had lead up to. Unfortunately he had underestimated the capability of our captors, and that was the last I saw of him. I spend my time sitting in the corner of the room alternating from wondering if I will be set free, or just killed. I know too much now, seen too much. I’m nothing but a loose end to these people, they have no reason to keep me alive. If I was released…what then? Could I really face going home, could I live with what I have done? All those lives lost because of my incompetence. Good

My body is ablaze. Screaming, crying, as blood lays around me. All I can feel is my body aflame with pain as I tortuously clutch my stomach, trying to stop the currents of blood leaving my body. A mixture blood and vomit spew on the ground, my eyes watering from the nauseating stench and the dull throbbing of the wound. Then, a

Everything is pitch black. I am pressed up hard against my peers in this moving enclosure and have been for what feels like a lifetime. I can hardly breathe and the heat is almost unbearable. The stench of death is penetrating, filling me entirely. Suddenly, light pours from outside blinding me, I am shoved and kicked by men, who maneuver me out of my previous prison. I realise that I am free, and begin to run forward, only to collapse as my legs and lungs cannot cope after standing for so long. I am herded into yet another dark and crowded enclosure with my peers, my heart begins to race with panic, and I try to resist, squealing and thrashing around. The cruel men from earlier reappear and poke me with what I assume is a stick, but it sends shockwaves through me, rendering me unable to move. Little did I know that that would be the last time I would move. Little did I know that my death could contribute to the destruction of a planet. You are probably thinking, ‘What is this? Some cruel form of torture in a medieval prison?’ I hate to tell you, no, it is not.

When they sent me to prison, frustration built up inside of me. There were many reasons for this frustration. Why was I in there? I was sold as a slave, which was not legal by any means. Most of all, what were they saying to me? I could not speak or understand English, so that made it so much worse. I started getting anxious to get out of prison and just get the trial over and done with. Thankfully, a friend of mine learned English and was able to translate. This made things so much easier. When we finally entered the court, I was a nervous wreck, but I could not show my emotions to the people. All of my feelings were bottled up inside of me, that I felt the need to let it all out at once. I started a chant to free us slaves that made me feel on top of the world.

your cell. You sit up as a guard comes in, he picks you up and marches