Christopher V. V. Parnell

Author

  The Sunday Smuggler    Hell's Prisoner  Aimless

Authors Note: The Title "The Sunday Smuggler" published HarperCollins is the same book retitled and published as "Hell's Prisoner" by Mainstream Publishers

THE SUNDAY SMUGGLER sample Chapter

 CHRISTOPHER V. V. PARNELL

HarperCollins BIOGRAPHY/TRUE CRIME. 

  AUD$24.95 (Plus Postage)

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TO ORDER PLEASE EMAIL NAME & ADDRESS DETAILS AND OR QUESTIONS TO chris@christophervvparnell.com

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(All books will be autographed and signed to purchaser.)

   CHRISTOPHER V. V. PARNELL  

Imagine you were on your way home to Australia with your wife and child after living in Asia for a number of years.

Imaging stopping off in Bali ... for a quick holiday.

Imagine being woken in the early hours  of the morning to find a roomful of police officers pointing their revolvers straight at you.

Imagine being handcuffed and locked in a cell a long way from home.

Imagine being sentenced to life imprisonment... for something you did not do.

WELCOME TO CHRISTOPHER PARNELL'S NIGHTMARE.

Prepare yourself for a journey into the Indonesian prison systems. 

A world where murders, torture and fights to the death are the norm. 

Where the guards turn a blind eye to the lethal weapons prisoners carry... and use almost daily.

Christopher Parnell, and Australian found guilty of drug trafficking, a crime he did not commit, finds himself catapulted into the maelstrom of madness and degradation that exists within an Asian jail.

The Sunday Smuggler is the powerful story of one man's battle to survive in some of the worlds cruelest and most inhumane prisons. Surrounded by murderers and sadistic violent criminals, Christopher soon learns that life is as cheap as a single bowl of rice.... or a cigarette.

During his imprisonment, Parnell was subjected to unthinkable sessions of torture, both physical and psychological. Left to starve and fight every day for his survival, he became a man forced to eat everything from cockroaches to human flesh.

This is an incredible tale of fatalism and bureaucracy, of corruption and the horrors of prison, but most of all it is a no-holds-barred account of what the human spirit can endure.

SAMPLE CHAPTER

From original unedited Manuscript

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Shadow People

*Three things a man needs to rule

Food... Faith... Weapons

There were 3 cars arranged, one for the Chook, one for the Don, and one for me.

It was just past 0300 hours in the morning when we were gathered together in the Don's cell, all in black and all with blacked out faces.

The Don crawled out of the window first, followed by the Chook, after they had left the cell I checked out Musaki as he was ripping out the Z's on his mattress on the floor.  There was nothing wrong with this bloke and the downers were having no adverse effects.

It was just as I was climbing out of the cell window that I heard the crack, it sounded like a rifle shot. 

When I managed to clear myself of the window, I dashed over behind a small bush  and huddled down slowly, as still and as silent as possible.  For a brief moment the rain ceased, the silence allowing me to hear my own heartbeat.  It seemed that the rain, from a torrential downpour, had just turned off, as if by God's own hand.

"No, no", I thought, "Please don't stop now, rain, oh please heavens open up, I need you, yes, that's it, that's it", as if the clouds themselves could hear me, they began to overflow into a flood like downpour (this rain would have impressed Noah!)

I looked around and could see the Don hanging from the barb wire that surrounded the tops of the prison walls.  He was trying to pull himself up over the wall, as a search light passed over him and hit the wall and roof of our block.

The guard in tower 3 was making sweeps of the prison compound with his search light. 

I caught the sight of Chook dashing down along one of the storm drains and thought to myself, don't run you fucker, don't run, stay still and let the light cross over you. 

The search beam was lowered and started to sweep partly across the wall and then partly across the storm drain.

I was still squatting down in one of the vegetable patches in the dark as I watched the beam of light pass over the drain, where the Chook had run.  The light followed the drain and then pulled back to the vegetable patch.

I stayed motionless as the light passed over me, then looked up at the wall where the Don was hanging.

The search light went back down and followed the drain again, but my eyes were locked on the Don hanging from the barbed wire on the top of the prison walls.

As I watched, his body seemed to come alive and he started to pull himself up, up higher onto the wall.

I knew that the barbs on the wire must of been tearing the shit out of his hands at the time, but he managed to get one leg over the wall and once he had a solid hold, he managed to pull himself over and squeeze between the barbed wire strands, and the broken glass that was embedded along the top of the wall, and push himself through to the other side. 

Then all I could see were his arms and hands, he then released the barbed wire and slid down the other side, to the side of freedom.

It was only seconds later, once he had disappeared, that the search light passed over where I was.

I was waiting for a good five minutes for the sounds of the sirens, bells and alarms to start ringing.  As soon as the search light was switched off I made my way over to where the ladder was lying on the ground.

Christ wasn't I pissed off, the loud crack that I had heard, and I am sure half the world must of heard also, was the breaking of the ladder.  Three pieces of 3 by 3 wooden poles had broken altogether, that explained why the Don was hanging from the barb wire on the wall.

Just as he reached the wire, the ladder must have given way, then he'd held on to the strands of wire as the ladder fell away from under him.

That's why the Chook took off faster than any of the rabbits could have ran, bolting crouched down at full speed along the storm drain heading for the office.

We had discussed this emergency plan well and truly over the previous month.

If anything went wrong once we were out of our cells and in the prison compound on the loose, the best place to bolt to was where the guards had just come from, if they were to do a sweep of the compound, but that hadn't happen yet.

All of the guards were in the prison office, apart from those still in the watch towers that were mounted along the prison walls.  These walls themselves were an awesome sight, some 4 metres high, embedded with broken glass at the top, then above that ran 1 metre high steel bars laced with a blend of razor and barb wire.

I knew that the Chook would attempt to climb up onto the roof of the prison offices, and from there, try to drop down into the outside car park.  It was a dodgy move, but if the shit were to hit the fan, there would've been at least a chance of pulling it off by going that way.

Better than just holding up your hands and giving up to the bastards.

The danger of that plan was, that the car park was right in the front of the prison offices where the guards played cards and sucked piss all night.

However, to get up on the roof of the prison offices, you would have to pass the odd wandering patrol within the prison compound, then climb up the drain pipe that ran up the wall to the roof, and behind that wall were a good dozen or more guards.  Then you had to cross the tin roof above their heads without making a sound to be able to get access to the wall.

So getting to the nitty gritty of it all the route that the Chook had just taken, left a lot to be desired.  The chances of pulling it off were slim but at least he was still on the move.

The problem that faced me now was how the hell was I going to get over the wall?

I gave the broken ladder a quick check over and noticed that one of the long 3 by 3 poles had broken away cleanly from the rest of the ladder, or should I say the rabbit's roof.

Sticking out from the top of one end were two big 6 inch nails, bent in the form of a hook.  I picked up the wooden pole and set off towards one of the darker sides of the prison walls where one of the lights that ran along it was broken.

I tried to hook the nails up into the barbwire that surrounded the tops of the walls, but the pole wasn't long enough.  The bloody thing had a big crack in it also, and as I tried to reach up with it, a good metre broke off in my hand, leaving me with only about 2 metres, but luckily those bent nails were in that 2 metre part.

Using the 2 metre stick, I managed to climb into one of the guard's towers, by hooking the nails onto a bar that ran around the guard post.  All of the towers had steel rails and a storm drain that ran around them on the inside wall also.

I dropped into the storm drain and criss-crossed the

The Indonesian guards liked to stay dry and keep their shoes clean, so I knew from over a year of watching the rice suckers that they all did their best to avoid duty in Tower 3.

It took me nearly an hour to get there because twice I had to crawl past guards that were sheltering under the eaves of the prison blocks from the rain. 

I was grateful for the rain however, even though it was filling up the storm drains, and during my trip across the prison, nearly drowned me when I had gotten stuck for a short time, only to be saved by the stick that I was holding onto with grim death.

The square cement storm drains, even when clean, only measured about half a metre wide by three quarters of a meter high.  They would normally be cleaned out once or twice a year, if lucky.  However, as usual, being the Murphy’s Law graduate that I am, the drains looked, and smelt like they hadn’t been touched since World War II!

As most of the drainage pipes throughout the prison were open, the changing seasons would ensure a thick growth of just about anything that would attach itself to the cement walls.

Fungus, mould, vomit, shit, decayed animals and whatever else you can think of, flourished in these drains.

The storm drains were a great way to move around, although they were deadly when they had water in them.  I suppose that's what they were designed for, water not people.

Though during this trip, I guess I must have psyched myself up pretty much to say the least.

When I reached number three watch tower, I slowly stood up from the storm drain, the rain belting down around me, my face blackened with bits and pieces of leaves and twigs sticking to me, along with this long shroud of stringy type moss, that hung from my shoulders like a long cape.

The storm drain had camouflaged me well, as a bolt of lightening cracked through the jet black sky, I looked down upon my body and what I saw of myself through the electric flash boosted me to new heights.

I had truly become one with the night, it was my friend, it was my ally, and I was now a living, breathing, unstoppable shadow of this night.

Nothing could stop me short of death.  My course was set.

I slipped into the shadows of the guard's watch tower.  I could see and feel every blade of grass and the small shadows that they made, as the rain beat down on them, and as the wind blew the rain down into my face I felt total exaltation. I was indestructible.

I was now master of the shadows, brother to the winds, and the Devil himself could not have stopped me.

I slipped the 2 metre pole up onto the bars of the watch tower and pulled myself up the pole.  When my hands found the steel bars that ran around the sides of the tower I pulled myself up onto the walkway.  If you've got a gun you bastard, you better use it now, I thought as I slid into another shadow of the guards watch tower.

I slowly moved my body over into another shadow and stood up searching for the guard.  I didn't have to search too long or too far, after all a prison watch tower isn't all that big.

The guard was having a piss over the wall on the opposite side of where I had climbed up.  I watched him as he did up his zip and wondered back in the enclosed part of the watchtower.  He picked up a packet of cigarettes, pulled out one and crossed over to where I was standing.  As he passed me, he lit up his dotch and walked by onto the catwalk where I had just pulled myself up.

I could see the stick that I had used still hanging from the catwalk bars by the bent nails.  Kill him, kill him now said a little voice in the back of my mind, kill him and run.

No, no not yet, there is no need to, said another little voice.  Take it to the max, see how far you can go, after all you are just a shadow, he doesn't even know you're here.  Feel him, feel him out. 

I stood there in the shadow of a shadow and watched as the guard turned around and once again passed me by.  He sat down on a chair, pulled out a small transistor radio and tuned into a channel playing Indonesian dunduk music. 

I watched him as his head was nodding to the music, he reached and pulled out a small half empty bottle of mansion house whisky from the pocket of his jacket that was hanging on a nail stuck next to one of the windows. 

I could've pissed off then and there but for some odd unknown reason I just had to stay and test myself.

I slid into the tower up behind the guard and slipped my arm around his throat, blocking his neck and cutting off his air supply, holding him down on the floor as his legs were kicking like a thrashing machine, and his hands were trying to claw at my face. 

The wind outside the guard post was roaring, and the rain was thundering down like a crescendo of jungle drums.

"Kill him, kill him", cried a wild voice in the back of my mind, "kill the fucker, kill him now, that you've got the chance".

"No, no you've proved your point, you don't need to kill him, let him go, let him go", said the better half of me.

I released the guard, dropped him to the floor and headed off over the wall with the clearest of visions of freedom in my mind. 

Run, run, run, run.

That morning I ran 28 kms for freedom.

But not far enough, for destiny and, Murphy's Law had other plans.

The Chook was caught no more than 200 metres from the prison, after he managed to climb up over the guards and avoid who knows how many foot patrols in the prison compound.

They sprung him at 0530 in the morning, and once he was caught the alarm was sent out, though I didn't know that at the time.  I had only reached the Oberoi Hotel near Kuta, by the time every policeman and every soldier on Bali had begun looking for both Georgio and myself.

Don't forget that Indonesia is a police state, or should I say a military state.  The whole country suffers military madness, it's what they call a guided democracy.

Guided by one bloke, President Soeharto and his wife and kids. They owned the place in those days, but politics were the least of my concerns, all that was in my mind, was to get the hell out of the country as quickly as I could.

I had two very good passports on me, one being a British male and the other being a New Zealand female, along with two international drivers licenses.

I had planned to leave the country as a woman, and for me at that time in my life, it would've been easy, for the two years in Kerobokan prison, I had not cut my hair.  It was very long but only few people knew just how long it was, because I kept it tied up in a top knot, like the Indian Sikhs do.

I always wore a beanie and I had dyed and permed my hair a few days before, with the help of the Chook, and my face in those days was all but hairless.  I used to sport a thin moustache and a small goatee beard, which could easily be removed.

I was very boyish looking, which with a little makeup could easily become a little girlish.

In fact the photo in my New Zealand passport was one of my blue-eyed blonde sisters.  My family have a close resemblance to one another other and I knew that I could make myself look like one of my sisters, even if it wasn't 100% identical.

The passport had been issued over 3 years previously and people change, but what I knew that I could count on was that, to Asians most Europeans or Westerners look alike, just as most Asians look alike to Europeans or Westerners.

When I reached the area of the Oberoi Hotel, I went down to the beach.  Still dressed in black with a blackened face, I dived into the water to clean myself up and discard the dark clothes, I was wearing during the escape, in the ocean, weighing them down with rocks.

I swam down towards the Oberoi Hotel and when I emerged from the sea out into the hotels beach front, I was wearing a long blouse like shirt with a belt around the waist,  and my long hair hanging down. 

Looking now more like a woman, I had previously shaved my legs too (they were probably the hairiest part of my body in those days), I headed for the ladies toilets, that were right next to the swimming pool, no more than 200 metres from the surf. 

I was carrying a small cloth shoulder bag that held all that I would need to make my transformation from a guy into a girl complete.

As I headed to the women's toilet I pulled out a book that I had, along with other things, sealed up in waterproof plastic zip bags. The book I had was the bible.

I had learned from previous experiences that the best place to hide your face when someone is looking for you, or at you, is in a book, newspaper or magazine, but a book suited me better. 

It was easier to carry and it was a special book, not only because it was a bible but within the cover of it I had stashed $1300.00, a British passport and the spare International drivers license.

I buried my face into the bible as I headed to the women's toilet, hiding the lower part of my face from one of the early morning hotel staff that was preparing the tables by the poolside for the early morning guests.

As I passed him, the dirty little bastard made a rude comment in Indonesian and smiled.  Christ I thought, as I gave him a little smile in return, I haven't even got the bra on yet and this little bastard is trying to pick me up.

Man that waiter would of shit himself if I had have lowered the book, showing my moustache and goatee, give him a wink and say, "Dan saya cinta kamajuga", (English - "And I love you also") 

That would of really blown him anyway.  The cheeky little upstart.

When I arrived in the ladies toilets the first thing that I had to do was have a shave, however the rotten bloody razor wasn't in with all the other goodies of importance that I had so carefully packed into the shoulder bag.

Oh Fuck, I thought, of all the stupid things to happen.  I had given the Chook a loan of the razor the night before, and had forgotten to get the damn thing back.  (Here was another great fuck up to add to the Best Plans of Mice and Man). 

I decided that maybe I could pluck all the hairs out of my moustache and goatee, with a pair of tweezers, but this proved fruitless and painful.  After having plucked out one side of my moustache my top lip was all swollen and bleeding, not too mention the eye above it was full of tears.

Fuck it, I thought, there's another razor waiting in the car that Gary had stashed for me.  I'll just have to have a shave in the car, or otherwise at this rate, trying to bloody pluck out a Moe and goatee, I'll end up here until next week, and probably look like the world's roughest woman.

So off I went, exiting the women's toilets with the Bible held firmly in hand.  As I passed the pool I noticed that the cheeky little waiter, who I had seen earlier was bending over the pool trying to retrieve a table napkin that the wind had probably blown into it.  I gave a quick look around to see if there was anyone in sight, but the place was still empty.

So as I passed him, I gave him a quick push.  Splash into the pool he went, that at least made me feel a little better, the little arsehole, trying to pick me up.

*Each day I practice being pissed off

And now I am getting pretty good at it

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Surf, Sand and Bullets

*You know that none of us

Can really decide arbitrarily to be what we are

We just are what we are

Through environment, hereditary

Or through the qualities of our Minds... Souls... or Emotions

We are only... what we are

I walked along the beach about a kilometre or two, heading to Kuta and the car, when out of the blue appeared a prison guard moonlighting as a statue seller holding up a carved statue.

The little prick came from nowhere, there were less than 5 or 6 people on the beach that early in the morning. 

The bastard must of been hiding under the sand I thought, as he thrust the statue in my face saying, "Does this pretty lady want to buy this very cheap ivory carving, it's very cheap, because it's my first sale of the day.  Just make me an O F F F, oh, sorry Sir", he said as the shit arsed statue that he thrust into my face knocked away the bloody bible that I was holding up, and I realized who he was.

I still had the bible in my hand after I had left the Oberoi Hotel, holding it up to my face, hoping that people would just think I was engrossed in the book, or maybe very religious.

"Ah, no thank you" I said and kept on walking, but I had noticed his face change as he looked at me.

He recognized me, as someone he thought he knew, but he couldn't quite place from where.

I kept on walking for about 10 more metres when he ran up to me, swung me around and yelled, "Russell, Russell".

As I faced him with my most innocent of smiles, I said "Who?, you've made a...", not even getting the sentence out, he reached behind his, back and I knew he was going for a weapon.

With that I finished the sentence, "mistake", and swung a back-handed closed fist across his jaw. 

As he fell to the ground I took off, managing to make a good 50 or 60 metres before I heard the first shots ring out.

The little bastard had his gun on him, that's illegal, I thought as I started to zig zag across the beach.

You're not supposed to take your guns home you arsehole, that's illegal.  As I heard something bizzzzz through the air above my head, I changed course and headed for the coconut trees and foliage that ran along side the white sands of Kuta Beach.

As I dashed towards them, I noticed a small foot trail that ran through the scrub onto the beach, and as I ran up it, I ran smack bang into 2 policemen on a motorcycle, the one in the pillion seat was carrying a rifle.

They were cutting quick, and I was traveling as fast as my legs could carry me.

When we met, I had the advantage, I could jump, they could only stop, which would have taken them time on that narrow path.  There was no way that they could have turned, or they would have ploughed into the coconut trees.

I jumped, but not away from them, kicking straight out at the rider. 

As he flew back he knocked the pillion off, the rifle sailed into the air, and the bike headed straight into the coconut trees, smashing itself

Within seconds I was back on my feet and after seeing another motorcycle coming up the track loaded with more coppers, I ran back to the beach.

I was thinking of trying to stash myself in the scrub, but there were too many small huts scattered along the  spewing out more military police.

By fuck they're fast, I thought.  How did they get it together so quickly?  It seemed I had really underestimated the bludgers.

When I looked up from where I was hiding I could see the runway of Bali's International Airport sticking out like a finger into the sea, and on it's runway I could clearly see a plane getting ready for take off.

I can catch that plane I thought, it doesn't matter where it's going, but I can catch it.  All I have to do is swim, but it would have to be a long swim.  How many kilometres, 5, 10, maybe more.

I heard the beating in the bush behind me, and the yelling of dozens of voices coming from the uniforms of the MP's who were searching for me, with the help of the local village people of course.

My only choice was take the long swim or give myself up.

So I opted for the long swim, as I dashed for the surf I heard a voice yell out "Sana, Sana, Di Sana" and the sand all around me erupted, followed by sounds that you would hear on cracker night.

"Run, run, run", screamed an all empowering voice in my mind, "run, run, run." 

When my feet reached the water, I was forced to slow down on my wild run into the ocean, as the waves started to bash against me, trying to throw me back onto the beach.

The water started splashing all around me as if people were throwing stones at me, but I knew that it wasn't stones being thrown at me.

As I dived into the first big wave, which covered me completely, I started to swim underwater towards the airport.

After I had swam as far as I could underwater, my lungs on the verge of bursting, I resurfaced with only my head sticking out of the water.

The surf was up, but not the surf for a surfboard rider.  The previous night's rain and the general bad weather had gotten the sea into a turmoil.

The undercurrent was enormous, as I battled with it for nearly an hour, I could feel it dragging me away from the airport and out to sea.

"You can do it", I told myself, "you can, you must, you have to".

"Just get to that bloody plane", I had locked in my mind.

If I could grab hold of one of the wheels, I could tie myself onto one of the wheel struts, people had escaped from the Eastern block countries doing the same thing. 

Sure some of them died, but some of them made it too, the one's that didn't freeze to death, fell out of the undercarriage. 

"So don't forget to tie yourself in, at least you won't fall out of the plane when it makes it's landing, and if you freeze to death, well, that's the risk you take, but don't drown.  No, No, I must not drown", I thought.

"Swim, swim", I told myself, but as hard as I tried, the further and further the airport and land became, then the cramps started.  First in the calves of my leg muscles, then up into my thighs.  I tried to massage them away, but my mouth and nose only started to fill up with salt water.

"Float, float, try to float", I told myself.  Relax and try to float on your back, but the waves wouldn't allow it.  As my legs cramped up for what I thought would be the last time, and the undertow started to take me down, I could hear bells ringing in my ears, they weren't unpleasant bells, they were more like music.

Yeah, I suppose I could only describe them as musical bells.  I've heard that drowning isn't all that an unpleasant death, and I really wasn't afraid of death, after all, it's something we all must experience at one time of our lives. 

Just as the music of the bells were reaching their crescendo, I saw the hull of a dug out fishing boat with outriggers drop down into the waves.  I held up my arm to it, waving it farewell as I started to sink below the waves.

When I opened my eyes, I was laying on my back in a thin hulled native fishing boat, looking at a little white woolly haired old man pushing down on my stomach and spewing salt water all over the place.

As my mind cleared I could see 3 police men in the boat, I had been recaptured, but I was too weak to do anything about it, except vomit up more salt water.

When I was returned to Kerobokan Prison, my reception left a lot to be desired.  I definitely wasn't treated like the returning lost child, or maybe I was.

The beating that I got from the guards on that day I'll not go into too deeply, as it only opens up old wounds that I am doing my best to forget about, but I was beaten well that day.

My clothes were stripped off, which were admittedly only a pair of underpants, a long shirt and a belt.  I was dragged over a table with my hands in handcuffs, and my legs pulled down around the table legs where I was sprawled spread eagled.

That's when the guards lay into me. 

Bashing me first across the knees and shins of my legs with their batons and night sticks, "So you want to run away, you want to use these legs to run away", they yelled and screamed, as they smashed into my knee caps and beat the skin off my shins.

Using me as an example to other prisoners who may try to escape in future, I was then dragged up and down the block (C Block of all places) by the handcuffs, or hair. 

Each guard had his turn at dragging me across the floor, with the handcuffs biting into the skin of my wrists, while the other guards kicked the shit out of me or stomped down on my back trying to break my backbone.

The guards were in their glory, and I had reached the heights of pain that I never before knew existed.

As the day drew on I realized that half the guards were not in uniform, and that they were from all of the shifts. 

You maggots I thought, you're all so brave now, but when alone you're all so fucking gutless, you race of fucking maggots.

All of the guards knew of our escape bid, and had heard that we all had been recaptured. 

The Don had been picked up sitting on the beach, and had given up without a fight.

In fact, he had even handed over the passport that I had doctored up for him along with the bloody map that he had, detailing of how to get to the car that was waiting for him.

But that didn't stop the guards from beating the shit out of him too. 

I was fuming at the thought that the Don would give up so easily, after the lengths we had gone too and then to hand over the fucking passport and map, without any form of resistance.

The only good point of that day was the sounds of his screams as the guards beat the shit out of him and finally crushed his cheek bone knocking the bastard out.

At least being knocked out, he couldn't be hurt anymore, and better still couldn't talk.

The Chook took it better, as the guards didn't hate him as much as they hated me, so l suppose he was smarter than me in that respect.

It was after the Don stopped screaming and the bulk of the guards came out of his cell, that they returned to me pulling me off the floor and spreading me on top of the table again. 

This time on my belly, they went to work on the backs of my legs and buttocks with their night sticks and batons.  I screamed and I screamed and I screamed, not only to satisfy the guards, because I knew that if I didn't scream it would only piss them off more, and they had their egos at stake.

But I screamed in pain, I screamed in frustration, and above all I screamed in hate.

After what seemed like a lifetime of screams and pain, I was finally pulled off the table again and dragged into a bare cell.

Four guards held me up in the cell and my old mate Darma went to work on my face, with his fist.  Believe it or not (because I couldn't) I was still conscience.  I watched him back off for a moment shaking one of his blood covered hands, I could only see him through one eye because the other was swollen closed.

When he pulled a night stick from one of the guards he was trembling in a blood lust rage, he then started to bash me over the head.

Bright burning stars appeared in the blackness of my mind and my ears were ringing.  I am not sure how many blows that I could feel, or suffered, but the next thing I knew was that I was laying on the floor curled up in the foetus position with the guards all kicking me. 

One kick caught me right in the balls, and the pain shook my whole body.  My bloody balls were sticking out behind me and the guard, or guards just kept kicking them until by a stroke of luck, they kicked them back between my legs.  That last kick I received into the old family jewels made me start to spew my guts up

There was blood everywhere, I couldn't tell what I was spewing up, my liver, my kidneys, my tongue or my balls.

Then one kick caught me in the side of the head, and I could feel myself blown into a great dark void. 

The pain had stopped, and so too did the screams and yells of the prison guards, as darkness had now taken me over, I remember my last thought was, so this is death, what a cunt of a way to meet it, kicked to death like a dog

*Birth... Life... Living... Death

None of these are an accident without reason

For nothing happens without reason

From the falling of the smallest leaf, or the smallest raindrop from heaven

To the world's greatest event, the coming of the first man

To the going of his last offspring

Nothing is an accident, nothing is without reason

But don't waste your time searching for an answer to it all

Because your birth, life, living and death

Will consume more time than you think you have

(28-4-94)

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Last modified: February 17, 2006