I met Daniel in a high-security prison, where I worked as a prison officer. He was just 21. We’d talked about him a lot before he arrived on the wing – we passed the security briefing on him back and forth, scrutinising his vacant mug shot and the endless red bullet points beneath it:
- Hostage Taker
- Staff Assaulter
- Bully
- Climber
Climber wouldn’t ordinarily be a problem, but in prison it is. Daniel had scaled fences, walls and roofs in previous prisons. He’d staged one-man demonstrations in the scalding sun, shouting abuse to the news crews that congregated outside the jail, his pale white skin reddening as the hours wore on. And now he was here. His initial offence didn’t warrant placement in a high-security prison, but his behaviour inside did.
He was fine for a while. He did as he was asked, followed the rules, didn’t fight. But he couldn’t control his temper. The tiniest thing set him off.
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