Should prisoners who no longer pose a threat to society be released?

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Hello everyone,

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Animals And Origami by Darcy L. Wood

Narrated by T. Jack Dansen

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George

I miss the sea breeze mussing my hair and the feel of cold sand worming between my toes. Even now, in autumn, the shoreline has its charms, like the squeals of the oystercatchers and the rhythmic ebb and flow of the tide. My dreams are of swimming in the ocean, of eating freshly caught mackerels and of kissing girls among the dunes, but these are the fancies of a silly old fool.

I try to keep my chin up. The set routines and loneliness bore me. Sloppy cottage pie every Monday, and that’s not the worst of it. I miss holding hands with Veronica, but she’s not with us anymore. I was head over heels in love with her at one point. She had strawberry-blonde hair and eyes the color of thunderclouds. I miss getting ice cream or collecting shells with Tilly, who would grip my hand with her little one in earnest. Her laughter was as pleasant as the wind chimes tinkling outside the multicolored beach huts, but she’s dead too.

The edge of a sheet of paper slides across the pad of my index finger, stinging as it slices, and brings me crashing back to claustrophobic reality. I still have my hobbies, I suppose. In old age, hobbies keep my mind sharp and my fingers dexterous. I’ve been working on an origami Noah’s Ark for some time now. I even have a metal engineer’s rule to make the folds neater. Lions, tigers, bears, cranes, cows, orangutans—they’re all here. Like me, Noah did what he had to do to survive. Sometimes I dream I’m Noah standing at the bow of my great ship surrounded by sea, haunted by the stink of captive animals.

The librarian orders books on origami especially for me. He’s a nice guy, got more nous than most. These days I’m lucky to meet anyone who’s not off their rocker; it’s hard to make friends at this age. Gavin is probably my closest friend, but I don’t think he really gets me. Sometimes, I see him frowning at me like he’s trying to figure me out. Despite his gruffness and an exterior that seems to be all muscles and tattoos, Gav is all right.

Gavin

I can’t effing believe I’m back here. The missus told me she’s expecting again, good news if I wasn’t planning on quitting. Either way, I can’t afford to hand in my notice now.

“Hey, you got a light, mate?” asks a guy hanging around outside the gates to work. I recognize him.

“No,” I say. “Smoking’s bad for you.” I’m not in the mood.

This is a shitty job. I’m from a working-class family, and anything is better than universal credit, but this job is drowning me. In school I sat next to some of these guys in class, including the man now asking for a light. He doesn’t remember me, or pretends not to. We had the same start, same opportunities, but ended up at very different destinations.

The man spits. A yellow glob of phlegm lands next to my shoe; I want to punch his effing face. People like him are shit. I’ve seen enough guys like this to know. It’s been 20 years since I left school, but we’re all still stuck in this same dead-end town. Maybe it’s because of their difficult upbringings, but mostly it’s because when the parents live like animals the kids go the same way. I had it hard too, but I’m not like this effing joker.

I grab his unlit cigarette and crush it between my palms before heading inside. My gloomy mood is because I have to see George this morning.

“Gav!” says Laura. She’s a young black lady who works at the desk and somehow always finds a reason to smile. “How was the holiday?”

“It rained,” I say. “But Maggie and May had a great time. May had her first surfing lesson and Maggie’s expecting again.”

“Aww. Congratulations! You should go abroad. The Algarve is lovely this time of year,” says Laura. She doesn’t wear much make-up, and I’ll admit her curvy figure in uniform has caught my eye on occasion.

“Skegness is about as far as our budget will stretch, but thanks for the tip.”

Laura beams and buzzes me in. She’s too young to know the strains that come with age. I want to tell her to never grow up, but it’s such a pathetic Dad cliché that I stop myself.

Thoughts of the day ahead weigh me down, but I’m determined to stay afloat.