The Incarcerated InkWell

Federal Inmate in a Canadian Prison with a Life Sentence writes about prison life

Church Bells Ringing… ?

Gone are the days you hear church bells in the distance. The scream of fire engines racing past you doesn’t distinguish from a bright day or a cloudy one. It’s more of a sign of the times we’re encased in.

I live in a small town. I’m new here, and if I had imagined that it would introduce me to barefoot walks sucking on overgrown grass fronds waiting for the strawberry wine to age, it would only be due to whispers of memories of fiction.

It has all the parts of a small town — small size, small population, and the neighbours that know you even though you have never met… yet.

But it has modern day problems. Divorces, and the accompanying children raised by so many adults they aren’t sure of who their parents are. And crackheads. Gobs and gobs of ’em. Makes me wonder when or who brought it to this small place first.

I left a big city and the bustle of its pace. I don’t know what I expected, but with the sound of emergency vehicles in my ears, and the sights of empty-eyed wisps of the local fauna, it looks like I didn’t really go anywhere at all.


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