He was going back to a place he’d hoped he’d never see again. The high walls, the stone buildings, the metal gates. No one ever talked about it, but it was a prison. No. He’d been in prisons before, he’d much rather be going there instead. This place made those nightmares seem like paradise. This was hell in white-washed rooms. Faces always stared, voices a hushed murmur. They would look on in disgust, hatred, apathy. Rumors spread faster than the plague. Those he could handle. Those he was used to. What killed him though were the fake smiles, and they were all fake. He could see it in their eyes. Eyes full of pity, of contempt. They treated him like a broken creature needing to be fixed. They felt sorry for him! Oh, how he would love to scoop out those sorry little eyes and sew shut those seethingly fake smiles, but his arms were wrapped around him, and soon enough they would shut him in his room and throw away the key. No leaving for him. No time off for good behavior, no possibility of escape. Only beady glances and muttered words. A sentence of life in hell.