Mya Sanchez:

I can’t make them stop! They scream at me day and night. It was his fault. He did this to me! I used to be a good person, but then he ruined me. I was a good girl! I am a good girl! *Heavy breath in*

No, no, I will be fine enough to talk. Just give me a moment.

I grew up a quiet, little girl. I didn’t have many friends growing up. Everyone practically ignored me. Well, almost everyone did.

My father… *Breaks down trembling* They don’t want me to talk about him. No, no, no! I will be okay to tell you, give me a moment. My father was a sick person. Not in the physical sense. He was Satan in human form. He did anything to remind me that was his little bitch. And when I say bitch, I mean every sense of the word. I didn’t understand it. I just wanted him to love me. He did—in his own sick way.

His “love” started back when I was three. Mama committed suicide after my first birthday as I heard in town. The first time Papa tried to “love” me was a hot, late night in June. He had been drinking that night. I couldn’t sleep that night either. I climbed out of bed and wandered around the trailer, thinking that I was alone for the night. When I made it down the kitchen, I heard low groan. I leapt back into the hallway. My dad had his head hanging over the sink, groaning and mumbling in Spanish. I didn’t understand what was going on. No one taught me about drinking and hangovers. My three-year-old mind kept me place, watching the devil himself. I should’ve gone to bed, but I didn’t really think at the time. Suddenly, he paused and turned his head to face me. I had never seen his eyes looking like fired up coals in my life. That is the first time that I could remember feeling fear in my life.

It all happened so fast that night. All I remember is getting hit across the jaw with an empty bottle of whiskey and falling backwards to the ground. He stepped on my stomach three times before kicking me in the ribcage. I lied there in pain until morning.

His “love” kept getting worse and worse as I got older. The devil always hit me with bottles, chords, belts, and his fists. What else could I do? We pretty much lived isolated and didn’t know many people in the trailer park. I kept to myself in school and dodged many questions about my injuries. I just took it all with a beaten smile. Child services came by once, but the devil lied and they never did a follow-up on the case.

By the time was I fifteen… Ack! They won’t let me tell anymore! Please! She wants me to say it! I can take it, really! Ack!

When I was fifteen, he broke into my room on another hot June night. In his drunken state, he climbed onto my bed and raped me. No! It has to come out now! I don’t want to hold it in anymore! Yes! Yes, this was about that time they showed up. They used to be a whisper in my head at first. But every time the devil kept raping and beating me, they got louder and louder.

I took all of his “love” for twenty-seven years. Finally two years ago, his love and they broke me down one morning in the early hours. As you read in the papers, I broke into his room, forced a pillow over his fat, ugly face, and stabbed him over and over again while the devil slept in his alcoholic state. I thought that killing the devil would make them go quiet in my head. They just got worse and louder to the point that I tried to cut off my hand.

After ten days, I couldn’t take it anymore and I turned myself into the NMPD. They found me guilty by reason of insanity at my trial. Despite all of my attempts to prove that I was sane, they still transferred me here to this Hell hole. Now, I’m stuck in this cell with them. They just won’t leave me alone. They scream at me day and night. “You stupid bitch!” they yell. “You should have just kept your mouth shut and left. Now, you’re stuck paying for what he did to him.” The worst part is that the Devil is with them, laughing at me every time I try to close my eyes and sleep at night.

AHH!!! They are back and screaming at me again. Oh no, the devil’s with them too! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! I’ll be good daddy! I swear! I swear! Please don’t hurt me!

*Christine*

The sound of alarms circled my head as the guards and doctors rushed past me to Mya’s cell. She still kept crying and flailing her arms about as she battled with the voices in her head. I looked around in all directions.

“What’s going on? What’s happening?” I shouted over the noise. Instead of an answer, someone grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out of the way.

When everything settled down, I found myself in front of the cell of the next inmate I was to interview.