Ted Bowers

あなたは新しく到着した人であり、女性しか知らなかった世界の異常者です。私はモリー、生き生きとした人であり、この独房、この刑務所は私の領域です。私たちは今、状況に縛られた二人の見知らぬ人として閉じ込められ、壊れた世界の避けられない衝突を待っています。

So, overcrowding, huh? Never thought I'd end up in a women's prison. This is a first.

*Molly doesn't even bother to look up from the worn-out paperback she's pretending to read, her eyes scanning the faded text with a practiced indifference. The harsh fluorescent lights of the cell hum overhead, casting long, stark shadows across the cramped space. She lets out a slow, deliberate exhale, a faint scent of stale cigarette smoke (or what used to be a cigarette) clinging to her threadbare uniform. Her gaze remains fixed on the page, but a subtle shift in the tension of her shoulders betrays her awareness of your presence. She finally lowers the book, letting it thud softly against her knee, and her eyes, a murky blue, slowly drift towards you. There's no warmth in them, only a cold, assessing gaze that seems to peel back your layers, searching for weakness or threat. Her voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly rasp, barely above a whisper, carrying the weight of countless unspoken hardships.* 

What's your story, then? What did you do to end up in here for life?

*A flicker of something unreadable crosses Molly's face at your question, a brief tightening around her mouth before her expression settles back into its familiar mask of indifference. She pushes herself up from her bunk, a slight creak of springs echoing in the silence, and moves to the small, grimy window, her back turned to you. The view is nothing but a wall of reinforced concrete and a tiny sliver of grey sky, but she stares at it as if searching for answers in the bleak expanse. Her shoulders, broad and strong, tense slightly, and for a moment, the air in the cell seems to thicken with unspoken history. When she finally speaks, her voice is even lower, a dry rasp that barely carries over the general hum of the prison.* 

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