(no subject)
Last night I slept well and some time this morning I dreamed.
In my dream I entered a clinical looking place, all smooth floors and plain cream walls and high ceilings. I was with some sort of legitimate group coming into this place. Not a guided tour, but a permitted investigation. I knew the corridors well and I walked almost blindly along a familiar route until I reached one particular door. A large, cream-coloured door with a square window at head height of some sort of reinforced plastic. I opened it and went in, closing the door behind me as I had been instructed.
Inside there was a room that was none too big. In the room there were around twenty children and teenagers, the oldest just a couple of years older than me. In the room there was no other furniture. I knew them. I had been one of them. They were wearing a neat grey outfit, a bit like a school uniform crossed with a casual suit. Some of them even had hats - little straw boaters with red and white ribbons. They were all very neat. None of them had shoes on. They were sitting on the floor.
I sat down. The murmur of conversation had hardly stilled when I came in and now it picked up again, but a couple of them immediately started picking their way across the crowded room to me. I remembered.
This was a prison, or a young offenders institute. It was a place where they put children who had committed some minor crime. I was admitted when I was twelve or so, because I had done something wrong - I still cannot remember what it was - and hadn't understood it. Then I had started to cry, because I didn't understand, and hadn't been able to stop crying for long enough to explain that I didn't understand. My parents weren't there. That was enough; I was disturbed and possibly dangerous. They informed my parents of what had happened and they put me into this room and then they forgot about me. We were the group that everyone forgot - small crimes, small instabilities, a lack of parental presence and this is where we ended up. My parents worked frantically to get me back, but once someone was placed into the institute it was very hard to get them out. Eventually, in the summer just before I turned fourteen, I was released.
None of my friends had been so lucky. We grew very close in the year and a half I spent with them. There was plenty of friction, but I didn't find a single cell mate unlovable. In fact, I ended up mothering them a bit - because I could generally see both sides of every dispute.
We weren't kept indoors all the time. There was an exercise period every day, and lessons - and those over fourteen were sent out to work during the day. We were looked after - fed reasonably well, clothed well, kept clean and neat. Only we weren't allowed shoes unless we were going outside.
The two who came to meet me were a pair I recognised immediately. There was a boy about my age who had become the de facto leader of the group when I was last there. I was soon to see that this tenuous state of affairs had become much more formulaic since I left. Then there was a girl a couple of years older than me who I had spent a lot of time with. She was a fragile thing who had been one of the first admitted to the forgotten room, years ago. When I was there last they sent her out to work twice. Both times her employer had attempted to abuse her and she had only just escaped. The people looking after us were horrified and had taken steps to severely punish her attackers - they did care - but they didn't do anything for her because in the forgotten room we didn't really get human contact. The nurses would usher us about, but they were changed regularly and we were never allowed to strike up a relationship with any of them. We only really had each other.
I don't know where this odd place came from in my mind, but I have very definitely dreamed it before - probably a couple of years ago - because I could remember the time I spent imprisoned. I was one of the very few who had parents who cared enough to get me out. Most of my cellmates were resigned to perpetual imprisonment. This time, though, this dream was me coming back to the place. I found that some things had changed. I want to explain that as well, but I've got to go to church. I'll post the rest of the story later.
alfgifu
In my dream I entered a clinical looking place, all smooth floors and plain cream walls and high ceilings. I was with some sort of legitimate group coming into this place. Not a guided tour, but a permitted investigation. I knew the corridors well and I walked almost blindly along a familiar route until I reached one particular door. A large, cream-coloured door with a square window at head height of some sort of reinforced plastic. I opened it and went in, closing the door behind me as I had been instructed.
Inside there was a room that was none too big. In the room there were around twenty children and teenagers, the oldest just a couple of years older than me. In the room there was no other furniture. I knew them. I had been one of them. They were wearing a neat grey outfit, a bit like a school uniform crossed with a casual suit. Some of them even had hats - little straw boaters with red and white ribbons. They were all very neat. None of them had shoes on. They were sitting on the floor.
I sat down. The murmur of conversation had hardly stilled when I came in and now it picked up again, but a couple of them immediately started picking their way across the crowded room to me. I remembered.
This was a prison, or a young offenders institute. It was a place where they put children who had committed some minor crime. I was admitted when I was twelve or so, because I had done something wrong - I still cannot remember what it was - and hadn't understood it. Then I had started to cry, because I didn't understand, and hadn't been able to stop crying for long enough to explain that I didn't understand. My parents weren't there. That was enough; I was disturbed and possibly dangerous. They informed my parents of what had happened and they put me into this room and then they forgot about me. We were the group that everyone forgot - small crimes, small instabilities, a lack of parental presence and this is where we ended up. My parents worked frantically to get me back, but once someone was placed into the institute it was very hard to get them out. Eventually, in the summer just before I turned fourteen, I was released.
None of my friends had been so lucky. We grew very close in the year and a half I spent with them. There was plenty of friction, but I didn't find a single cell mate unlovable. In fact, I ended up mothering them a bit - because I could generally see both sides of every dispute.
We weren't kept indoors all the time. There was an exercise period every day, and lessons - and those over fourteen were sent out to work during the day. We were looked after - fed reasonably well, clothed well, kept clean and neat. Only we weren't allowed shoes unless we were going outside.
The two who came to meet me were a pair I recognised immediately. There was a boy about my age who had become the de facto leader of the group when I was last there. I was soon to see that this tenuous state of affairs had become much more formulaic since I left. Then there was a girl a couple of years older than me who I had spent a lot of time with. She was a fragile thing who had been one of the first admitted to the forgotten room, years ago. When I was there last they sent her out to work twice. Both times her employer had attempted to abuse her and she had only just escaped. The people looking after us were horrified and had taken steps to severely punish her attackers - they did care - but they didn't do anything for her because in the forgotten room we didn't really get human contact. The nurses would usher us about, but they were changed regularly and we were never allowed to strike up a relationship with any of them. We only really had each other.
I don't know where this odd place came from in my mind, but I have very definitely dreamed it before - probably a couple of years ago - because I could remember the time I spent imprisoned. I was one of the very few who had parents who cared enough to get me out. Most of my cellmates were resigned to perpetual imprisonment. This time, though, this dream was me coming back to the place. I found that some things had changed. I want to explain that as well, but I've got to go to church. I'll post the rest of the story later.
alfgifu