Dark Sorrow is not responsible for any of the stories listed below. I don't know that these stories are true. I have not seen the transcripts of any trial. Look into it before you make a contribution or look the other way. If you have any information on any of the above stories, then please let me know. These are stories by prisoners that were sent to me.

The sounds that are made by large steel prison doors slamming are sounds that have never left my mind, or my ears, even though forty something years have passed. That horrible hollow echo sound bouncing off one steel wall to another and then traveling for more than a quarter of a mile to wake up each and every prisoner who is confined within the prison's large steel unforgiving cage. 

Just a nineteen year old boy who bought a six pack of beer at a party, who is now dressed in prison attire and ready to serve just another long day of his four year, five month, and twenty-eight day sentence. 

Out of the small steel cell he walks heading down the concrete and steel walkway, with hundreds of other prisoners, three stories above the concrete earth below, to receive his breakfast. Upon entering the large steel dining area, still half asleep, the echo of clanging, banging, hammering steel never ceases or stops. The noise of the steel walls, the steel doors, the steel pots, the steel pans, the steel trays, the steel silver ware, the steel benches and the steel tables are all a constant reminder of the very terrible, unforgivable deed that he committed against the society in which he once was allowed to live. 

He shuffles along very slowly, dragging his scared, bent up steel tray down the long stainless steel line, as the kitchen inmates throw, slam, and splatter disgusting looking food onto his three partition steel tray. He never makes eye contact with anyone and he never stops slowly moving forward. He raises his hand to his mouth to remove the cold solid grits which have splattered onto his hands and arms as the food was pitched towards him and landed onto his cold steel tray. 

Reaching the end of the food line he reaches over and picks up two pieces of cold, burnt toast and then mashes them, as hard as he can, down into the other cold food below. Then he walks towards a old painted peeled steel table that has probably been painted grey for the fifty-third time, where finally he sits down placing his face into his hands, just for a moment, in order to give thanks to God for the little bit that he does have in his life, whatever that would be. 

There will be no tears from this scared young boy as tears are a sign of weakness and weakness is a sign of trouble in any prison. He reaches over and picks up the one thing that he knows has been made out in the "free world". A small packet of Welch's Grape Jelly, with a peel off top. He holds the small packet of jelly up to his eye, towards the large steel prison lights, in order to look at it's beautiful purple color. He finally lowers his hand and stares at the small package and wonders if some free beautiful woman, in a small factory somewhere, might have touched that same package with her warm kind hands before sending it off to him in this ungodly place of sadness. 

He picks up his fork and takes a large portion of powered egg and places it into his mouth, chews once or twice and then slowly opens his mouth allowing the disgusting eggs to fall back onto his steel prison tray. He pushes the tray away and just sits there quietly with the one small package of Welch's Grape Jelly sitting before him on the table. 

Other prisoners at the table ask him if he wants his food and he tells them to take what they want. He reaches over and picks up one piece of the burnt toast, shakes off the cold dried grits, and places it on the dirty grey steel table. He opens the small jelly packet and spreads the firm purple jelly onto the toast and then slowly raises it to his mouth and takes a bite. Then he suddenly places his head forward, face down, onto the large steel table so no one can see the tears rolling from his eyes and he secretly cries. 

I will never forget that wonderful split second of pleasure for as long as I live, and the mixed tears of sorrow and joy that I shed that day sitting at that steel prison table. 

In spite of all the sadness, the meanness, the hatred, the gloom, the horror, the death and all the misery that was surrounding me. I realized for the first time in my life that "goodness" could have a feel and taste. That goodness was supposed to have a meaning and was to be appreciated and enjoyed. That some form of goodness could be found anywhere, at anytime, even in the worst of places. 
Even to this day I love Welch's Grape Jelly. I have it in my refrigerator and a spare jar in my pantry at all times. It is, and will always be, my favorite jelly. 
I have eaten jellies and jams from all over the world and I have never found the same ingredients in another packet of jelly, large or small, and I don't believe 
I ever will. 

Roger Dean Kiser

[ Home | Just For Kids | Victims | Prisoners
About Dark Sorrow | Favorite Links ]

Let me know your opinions and ideas!

Email Dark Sorrow