The morning felt the same as any other, the same aches, pains and smells, but when I grew coherent, there were shouts and bangs which were different from the usual din.
The door swung open and a guard walked in. He asked me where Georges was and I pointed at where Georges usually slept. But the man had disappeared. He wasn't there.
I asked the guard where he was and he hit me hard in the solar plexus.
The prison guards looked for Georges for a week, and then gave up. He had left me. I felt betrayed even though I didn't really have any reason to be. The three new inmates stared at me again.
I didn't have anyone to glare at them for me this time, so I did it myself. They seemed amused.
It was July and I was feeling a little better,
Robert and I had formed an almost friendship now that Georges had gone and it was comforting to know that there wasn't long left; less than a year.
On the fourteenth of July, the no longer new inmates spoke to me for the first time. The leader, a man Georges had told me was named Herrick asked me my name.
I asked him how much it was worth to him. I got a hard slap for that.
As I didn't quite like how the man was speaking to me I offered him a false name. Sebastian de Janvier. He didn't like that either it seemed. He slapped my right cheek this time.
He told me that he knew my name. That my name was Charlie Fawcett and I was a Lord in England. I told him that he was a prat.
He called his friends over and all three of them pressed me into a corner.
They were English farmers, they told me, brothers. They had worked on my estate. Telling them that it was my uncles estate had no effect.
They had been turfed out of the land when they hadn't met the new rent rate a year ago.
I told them that it was my uncle who dealt with those things, that I had been in prison for over two years. Robert nodded when they asked him and I felt a rush of relief.
They didn't care that I wasn't the one to blame. I was related to the man who had done it and that, it seemed, was good enough.
They had me pinned against the wall. They looked murderous. Murder would have perhaps been preferable. They punched, kicked, elbowed, slapped pulled what seemed like every part of my body.
Turn taking seemed to be an unfamiliar concept to them. They didn't even care that the entire cell was awake and watching.
I did care however, and I could feel the heat in my cheeks, fat tears of humiliation rolling down them like a waterfall.
After they had finished, they left me curled on the ground and went back to muttering in the corner but I couldn't concentrate on anything but the pain.
I didn't move for two days, and when I finally did regretted it. Being able to move seemed to mean that I had recovered enough for round two.
They left me alone after that. They seemed to have gotten bored of how I didn't do anything to stop their beating.
The bruises all over my body had begun to heal and the black eye which I had been sporting was finally fading.
The rest, if anything made me more anxious, every time I glanced up, one of them would be staring at me and every time a door slammed I would flinch horribly They found this very funny.
To add insult to injury, Robert had stopped talking to me too.
November arrived and they picked up where they had left off, though less frequent and more randomly.
They would choose different times of the day, or wake me up in the middle of the night by smashing a foot into my ribs.
Every time I tried to explain it was my uncle they wouldn't listen or care. They seemed to enjoy hurting me regardless if it wasn't me who had turfed them out.
The new year meant another letter from my uncle. It was shorter this time.
You are to be released from prison in four months. I would like you to note that you will not be welcomed back into my house.
You are of course, entitled to your inheritance from your father, though I have warned the bank about your gambling habits. They are to send any of your receipts through me.
I will send you ten pounds for you to make your way back to England.
I couldn't bring myself to care about him ruling my life. At least I would be out of here. At least I wouldn't have to see these three men again. I didn't even know all their names.
Herrick stole my letter and he read it with gusto.
He commented that I only had four months left. I commented that he only had four teeth left. Sometimes I don't think he gets my humour.
Surprisingly, they left me alone for the next two months and in this time I started planning what I was going to do when I left the prison.
Run as far away as possible and write an in depth, yet gripping and amusing account of prison life probably.
Two weeks later, six weeks before my release, Herrick and his brothers resumed their daily tormenting. It was just as bad as the first few weeks had been.
I had another black eye, a swollen lip, what felt like several broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder.
Robert, who I had managed to get to talk to me again reset my shoulder as best he could which I was grateful for.
The three brothers had, it seemed, finally worked out the concept of turn taking. Usually, it was just Herrick. He liked me on my back he said, so he could look at my eyes whilst he hit me.
I asked him if it got him off to beat me up, and that he was a right mental case. He gave me a matching black eye.
Two days before my release, I was looking relatively normal, at least, that's what it looked like in the dull reflection I could see in the water jug. They left me completely alone.
They obviously didn't want the warden to see the damage they had caused. When the door opened on my day of release, It was the best sound in the world.