I haven’t really met anyone here yet. We’re supposed to talk in group everyday, but talking to the other inmates in a big session isn’t really meeting them. It’s hard to find other things to do in my free time. I’ve already read my book three times and I’m sick of it. I’ve been writing when I had the energy. Mostly, though, it’s not my antisocial attitude that’s stopped me from making friends. It’s this place, this sickness. It keeps people feeling horrible and subdued. Rarely do I see inmates talking except in group, when Dr. Cruizie makes them. And by rarely I mean I haven’t seen it at all yet. Even during outside time people just spread out their blankets and lay in the grass in the shade. It’s all anyone seems to have energy for. Maybe it’s not just that, though. I think everyone is embarrassed to be here.

At least the grounds are beautiful. If it weren’t for the fence and all the inmates splayed out like beached whales in hospital gowns, this place would seem more like a college campus than a prison. Everyone is just wearing medical bracelets instead of the more fashionable variety.

Huge, thick based trees dot a green carpet of grass around the inmate house. There’s a medical building, a rec hall, an administration building, and a cafeteria house, but that’s about it. Mostly it’s just all green grass and trees. It’s peaceful here, in a surreal sort of way.

The rooms are peaceful, too. Small, with two twin beds covered with rough wool quilts. I have an empty bed in my room because I don’t have a roommate. The inmates who’ve been here long enough, those most adjusted to the ups and downs of the virus, they make things like the quilts for the rooms. Each bed has a nightstand and a desk. The more I talk about it, the more it sounds just like that college campus I mentioned earlier. Except everyone is sick, and everyone is supposed to be a criminal.

The security is pretty lax because all the inmates are infected. Just a few guards and a fence. The virus leaves bright red blotches on your skin in random places, so even if anyone did escape they’d have to hide out for awhile while the virus faded. The pamphlet they gave me when I was first admitted told me that even though the symptoms of the virus might fade when I left, without an injection of the cure when my sentence was complete, the virus would eventually kill me. I guess that’s why security is so lax – the promise of a premature death keeps the inmates from trying to escape. Who knows if it’s true, but that fear is enough, I guess. That seems the way with everything nowadays.