Description Essay
... with the desk. It is white, and quite possibly the only shine of hope in this bleak reality. A single light pierces the gloss of an open textbook with the precision of a well-guided dart. Accompanying the desk is a wooden, single level combo bookshelf and tack board. This combination bookshelf/tack board is the where the prisoner’s escapes lie: in photos, movies and books. Photos of friends not seen since the previous year are each braced by a single pushpin and dangle lonely on the tack board. Movies range from classics such as old James Bond films to thrillers like The Silence of The Lambs. The selection of books ranges from a book on the bureaucracy, which is what the prisoner probably wants to reform, to the journal of Kurt Cobain. The only noise that can be heard in this dwelling is the incredibly powerful sound of The Cult coming through two blue speaker, each two inches wide and seven inches tall, one sitting to the left of the computer, and the other resting on the top of an unmarked black file cabinet placed directly next to the desk that towers over it. The music is loud and heavy, and probably would frighten those not used to or not a fan of flailing guitars playing heavy rock riffs. Other than the lone blue speaker, the only item stored on the file cabinet’s top is a box of ramen, quite possibly the only food, dare the word ‘food’ be used to describe such a repetitive meal, that the prisoner can enjoy if he chooses not to subject himself to the horrors of a standard prison meal. The taste of the ramen seems to have an aura around the box, as if one can taste the ramen with just a mind-numbing gaze. Any prolonged visual exposure to this box could prove to be physically or mentally harmful to someone. Before the visitor reaches the bed, he or she must first expect to see a dresser, in the same style as the desk, with a heap of change scattered all over the top. A tower of books, more than twelve inches strong and full of disinformation, demands the eye’s attention and must be feared by all those who take sight of the books. The right side of the room is a whole different matter. The prisoner living in the right side of the room lives his life as if he does not realize that he is, in fact, a prisoner. The desk that physically resembles his cellmate’s in every way, shape and form is not cluttered with any loose papers. The only object on his desk is a monitor, displaying an image of Barry Bonds hitting a homerun. His walls have objects tacked to the wall: a black and orange San Francisco Giants banner and a black and white poster of Muhammad Ali standing over Sonny Liston after knocking him to the ring floor. The wall is just a heap of broken images, the image of what every child once was and what he or she once strived to be. When the cell door is overb...