Tiny letters

This is the first Monday without interrogation.
They moved me to a bigger cell over the weekend.
Four beds, three inmates, a table that deserves the name.

Timo is a shy, tall guy from a village near Leipzig.
His uncle from Hamburg tried to smuggle him underneath the passenger bench.
His trial will take place at the end of the month, just like mine.

Andreas is a rough bloke.
I’m not sure if I can trust him.
Not the sharpest tool in the shed.

For a political prisoner he is too loud and his story is too flat.
Walked towards the border in the woods near Saalfeld.
Got caught and claims to have tried to flee.

I’m convinced he either lost his way drunk or has something to hide.
No details for motivation or how his frustration built to leave this place.
We do not share common ground here and I need to be careful with him.

Played cards all weekend.
The books Andreas lends reflect his intellect.
I shouldn’t be so judgmental I know, my mom would correct me.

Speaking of which:
Received another three letters from her today.
As they only allow one page she squeezes the letters and lines.

Since my dad visited me on the monthly visits, mom wrote the letters. Squeezing as much as possible content onto the page. Although I could feel how much she was hurting with every single sentence.

Since my dad visited me on the monthly visits, mom wrote the letters. Squeezing as much as possible content onto the page. Although I could feel how much she was hurting with every single sentence.

It looks and reads as if her hurt is squeezed onto the paper too.
“How can I start: I cry a lot. Sleep is a distant memory.”
With weeks in between answers the dialogue drags.

Hopefully they can visit both after the transfer wherever they’ll take me.
The new company takes my mind off of things.
Counting the days until trial.