The man opened the door and stomped one large rubber onto the cement, then the other, in what seemed to be a very intentionally aggressive way. He yelled, "What are you doing?!" at me. I, surprised to be in such unwanted confrontation, tried to avoid him by crossing the street. As I took one stop onto the grass between the sidewalk and street, the officer whipped out his taser. I took a quick breath in to beg the policeman not to shoot me, but it was too late. I was on the ground, writhing in electric pain.
He came over to me, picked me up by the color of my coat and held me up against the picket fence, which only came up to the middle of my back. "I asked you a question!" he barked at me. He pushed me hard into the fence, bruising my back.
"Je ne sais pas," I started. "Qu'est-ce que vous voulez?" I asked, realizing quickly that I could only speak to the officer in French. He then asked me my name, but for some reason, my brain wasn't comprehending English at this point. "Je ne comprend pas," I yelled as he through me in the back of his cop car.
The next thing I knew, I was at the local jailhouse (which I toured once before in middle school). It obviously hadn't changed a bit. I realize shortly that I understand English once again. A woman approached me in the foyer and handed me a pile of drab, white clothing. To my dismay, she ordered me to change into it, for I was not allowed to wear anything else.
Shortly thereafter, I found myself within a cell that looks as if it is more for a mental hospital than a jail. There is one thick glass wall that allowed me to look out and everyone on the other side to see in, much like the reptile house at the zoo. I was surrounded by three other white walls, seated on a bed that extended between each of the walls. Across the room was the glass door. The next thing I knew, there were two guards holding me down on the bed which had turned into cold metal as the same woman who handed me the pile of white clothes shaved my head.
I began to cry as I realized that a number of people I care about were outside of my cell, playing games. They clearly knew I was there but refused to look into my cell or formally take notice to me. I didn't bother to yell for their attention, because I knew they would have tried to help me if they truly cared. Instead, I simply sat on my bed, curled up in my ugly clothing with my new, patchy haircut watching them.
Awfully depressing, isn't it? That's where my dream ended.
