I was a prisoner, incarcerated in a high security facility. Cement and bars, pale green  paint, guards to escort you everyplace. Of course, fights would still break out, and people would get shanked on a regular basis. Not the same person over and over, but, you know, kind of a random rotation of retribution, the original provocation Barely remembered by some of the very oldest inmates. 

Those were the grey beards, Charlie Manson types, their steely eyes still determined, despite years of surreptitious state sponsored drugging. Teeth falling away, they would grin and squint as if to say, "I am not physically capable of harming a flea, but inside, deep inside, you still can't kill the beast."

I was being shuttled from somewhere to somewhere else. They never told you where they were taking you, but one could usually guess by the claw marks on the wall or bloodstains deep in the cracks of the cement, which gave the floors an appearance of rosacea, that it was not good.

OK. It was to the shower that I was being taken. Good. Except for my two guards, I was alone. One never got the privilege of showering alone unless they were going to be released or executed. I hadn't committed murder, but I had been in there so long, I couldn't recall when my release date was, or if there even was one. 

"Better leave those here," the guard said, pointing down at my well-worn black rubber garden clogs. "Someone will appreciate them." Foot fungus was a big deal in there.

The shoes, though crumbling and cracking with age, still had some life in them -- but perhaps, I wouldn't. I still didn't know where they were taking me, but It was apparent that I wouldn't be needing them anymore. 

I wasn't particularly worried. Either option, execution or release, seemed equally appealing. It would be something different, a break in the routine. If it was execution, I'd at least get a decent last meal. I was thinking pancakes, bacon and eggs, maybe toast and jam, coffee...(OK, that's just me getting hungry now, as I write this.)

Or if I was to be released, well, that would be alright too, I guess. I didn't know where I would go. I didn't really think about it much. I wasn't really capable of doing very much thinking, which was what they wanted. No questions, no suspicions, just compliance. Like a sheep to a shearing or a lamb to the slaughter, do robots even know that they are robots?

As they led me out of the shower, an unlikely door in the hallway wall opened up to the outside world. Not the prison yard, or even the fenced in work area, but the real outside world. The light was so bright, my eyes could barely perceive what this world looked like. It would take time to figure things out.

I was glad enough just to be leaving those black rubber shoes behind, so I didn't care. 

----

First dream I've been able to recall for a while now. I've still been dreaming, but upon awakening they get locked up, and I'm barely able to perceive that there is a whole other life I am living while I'm asleep. And like that show "Severance," where people have their consciousness separated into two distinct people, one for work and one for home life, never the twain shall meet.

Today is Saturday, so I'm going to transition into my next phase, my next incarnation after incarceration. What will I do with my freedom? What does freedom look like or even mean? I don't know, but I guess I'm going to find out.