"There is a point beyond which even justice becomes unjust." - Sophocles
The cellblock goes unnaturally silent, and an eerie sizzle makes its way through my nerve endings as a dead human being surrounded by prison guards, rolls past my cage on a gurney. One of the backward jogging guards pumps his hand violently into the victim’s chest, and while the pumping lacks the rhythm of genuine CPR, the sight of an apathetic guard even bothering is a sight I’ll never forget. I catch a glimpse of the inmate’s face and it seems obvious that any effort to save him is in vain. His face is a stale gray, and so slack it appears devoid of muscle. He looks like he’s been dead for months rather than minutes.
