Back outside on the Astroturf.

It’s been a peaceful week with none of the little guys being shouted at or bullied. On the sunny days, at times it feels like we were out in a park -a few groups kicking a stress-ball about… others walking around in twos and threes… four or five chatting on there bench.

For the most part the little Romanian has been ignored rather than bullied. This has allowed me to relax and enjoy the summer sun, as it stresses me out to see him getting picked on. I’ve had interesting chats about films, people’s jobs on the outside, the video calls that inmates have had, people’s relationships with their families etc. And there’s been some joking around and good-humoured teasing… even a sing-song one afternoon.

But today some invisible force is reawakening the jungle mentality… the thin veneer is being scratched from the surface of this fragile little society.

It starts with one of my buddies -the ‘original’ little Romanian who’s been here longer than I have. Until the most recent Romanian guy arrived he was the main target for the hall’s more rowdy and bullying residents. I suppose the presence of a new victim has been a relief to him. His position in the hall has suddenly changed and become more comfortable.

As we sit on the bench, talking with a small group of guys, he uses his new-found confidence to teach people how to say “Fuck off!” In Romanian. I can see where this will end up, and so when the first person shouts it at the ‘new guy’, I shout back “Leave him alone!” hoping that this will extinguish a spark before it takes hold. But within seconds everyone us up on their feet. Facing towards him and either shouting or laughing along at the joke. I look around and realise that I am literally the only person sitting back, choosing not to be drawn into this ugly scene. The little guy appeals to the wardens for help. One sits motionless, the other laughs and replies “Turn around and tell them all to fuck off!”

After a few minutes everything dies down.

Back up in the hall an hour later, I hear the familiar plastic jingle of fobs and keys, and the resonant metallic clang of key and lock. The door swings open and I walk out of my cell towards the food service area, plastic plate and bowl in hand. Looking across the hall, I see the little Romanian’s cellmate is mopping blood up from the floor.

With a sad and heavy heart, I go to the cellmate and ask what’s happened; though I already know the answer… because the little Romanian has warned many times that he will slash his forearms if things dont change for him.

He will spend another few nights locked in a suicide cell. Here in the hall the heartless banter has already begun;

“Fucking little cunt”

“I’d have given him some of my blades”

“Bastard Romanian”