It sounded like thunder. The rumble of bodies slamming against bunks and locker boxes. The grunts, howls, and short yelps of human being responding to cold metal piercing his flesh and colliding with sensitive organs. Two desperate men fighting for their individual lives with no one there to help, no referees, and no escape. I don’t know the cause of the fight, but the winner went to kicking on the door yelling for help when he realized that the loser was coughing up a lot of blood.
The knife wound was too deep! The blood was too dark. Not the light colored hue that you get when shaving or nip your finger, but the kind that comes with that copper smell. The realization of imminent threat of death is a scary scenario for the winner. The yell of a scared child is heard in the panic of the moment. I could only imagine him having to explain to his mother that his 10 year sentence will soon be a life sentence if his victims dies and the realization of it all scared him to assailant to assistant.
Solitary confinement is supposed to be “Solitary” but due to excessive overcrowding, and a severe shortage of staffs it has been the practice of leaving two men locked in a cell for years.
As a man of faith, all I could do is pray and intercede at that moment. I grab my lock and join him in knocking on the door in hope of getting help. The warden of security was working that night and early morning (again, severe shortage of staffing) and after a slow and reluctant response managed to get an equally reluctant medical crew to come and get the loser triage and a 3 day trip to the hospital.
With an average staff count of 5 working on any night and weekend shift, the chances of help coming in time is almost nil. I want to think that my prayers worked that early Sunday morning, that some how God intervened in the situation and had a staff nearby to respond to a life and death situation. I shiver to think that next time a stabbing takes place it may be on a shift or day when there’s no one there to check on us. Worst, I cringe to think that I’m the one on the receiving end of a crudely made rusty shiv handled by a drug crazed, demonic mad man.
Roman Noel #0001141647
701 Prison Blvd
PO Box 339,
Sparta, GA, 31087
