How long till my time to escape comes? I wondered, sitting in the dark and listening to the heavy breathing around me. There were always turns. It was lines, and turns, and stopping at the line and waiting until permission was given. It was yes-sir and no-sir and whatever-you-say-sir. Escape was what my parents had always talked about, and it was the goal that kept everybody going. There was something called freedom out there, that was not in here. The only freedom that I had was the little stone carvings I made of the things that people talked about in their stories after lights-out, when the guards weren't tense. Shouting would cause a crackdown, but the murmur of stories, that they allowed. My mother said they wouldn't have allowed even that, but there was such a high rate of suicide, and then they found out that the one sector with a lazy--

Inspiration: Berlin vs. Meeks - Shayla
Story Potential: High.
Notes: There's not actually much in the way of story here, but it would be an interesting head to crawl into. Somebody born and raised in, essentially, maximum security prison. You hear about lifers who leave and find themselves unable to function in normal society. Could probably amp this up to include Commentary On Society. For bonus points, y'know.