Where does Cassandra begin now? 

Time was not the problem - the pile of amorphous moments she was facing, demanding to be structured and filled, was growing increasingly menacing each day. Three nights in a row now that she had been dreaming of crossing a stretch of marshland, but she couldn't move as the mud would glue her feet to the ground, then slowly, dragging her under. Few days ago she had been deemed sane and mentally stable by the doctors in spite of her sister's requests, and was then transferred to her new home.

Home was not the traditional family house where inside lived a warm, happy family. Home now, meant solitary confinement.

Cassandra had been spared the horror of having to share her cell with another prisoner, for which she was extremely grateful. She had always cherished her privacy, and she couldn't bear it if what little of it remained with her was to be taken away. But most importantly, the starving journalist within her could have the pleasure of writing whenever she felt like it - during the night, at noon, at three in the morning when she would snap awake. Her cell contained a narrow single bed with a plastic mattress that would squeak when she laid down on the coarse covers. The walls were painted a shade of grey that made her feel nauseous whenever her eyes would linger on it for longer than necessary. She also had a small window the size of her palm that she could look through, but there would be no point since all there was to see was dirt and rock. Cassandra also had some wobbly shelves and a small plywood wardrobe. The piece of furniture that stood out to her the most though was the little wooden desk, into which numerous previous prisoners had carved a detailed pattern of initials and obscene language, and a small red metal chair. 

She dreaded the experiences she had with the other inmates, those moments in the day where she was told to leave her cell and pretend to do small talk: in the showers, at mealtimes and during the compulsory daily courtyard outings. 

Cassandra had entirely lost the ability to think of normal things to say. Remnants of the past continued to haunt her and she was no longer a normal person, despite being declared sane last week. She constantly wondered whether the women here knew what she did to land herself in the slammer. She felt as though they were constantly watching and judging her, waiting for the right moment to attack. Truly, she didn't think she had the strength or the energy to defend herself. In fact, a part of her wished they would just get on with it and beat her to death or something. Some nights she wished she had just gotten the death penalty. 

Funnily enough, it is not the creature comforts that she missed most - such as edible food. Jail food consisted of stale bread rolls that would sink like wet cement in the pit of everyone's stomachs ultimately rendering its victims overwhelmingly overweight and undernourished. Cassandra was lanky enough. Before being sanctioned, she was already weighing in at a hundred pounds. She was terribly afraid to figure out what her weight was now. 

Neither, to her own surprise, did she miss alcohol. The cravings she used to get for the state of comfortable numbness had disappeared completely, and nor did she miss her soft maroon velvet sofa, her books, her record collection, and her comfortable queen size bed. 

But she did miss company. Although some of her old friends had committed to faithfully visiting once a week, and call every day, she felt as miserable as never before in her life. 

Cassandra was - completely - and totally alone. The gaps, both old and new, were now emerging so ominously. She cherished her visiting days more than anything, even if she could barely summon the courage to look them in the eye. And she missed her cat. Badly. Whenever she would wake up, during those few seconds it takes the mind to re-orientate itself in space and time, she would turn to touch Lailani, her hand expecting in vain to find her furry cat paw on the duvet right next to her.

But, besides the company, what she missed most was having a job to do. A task. Being assigned on a project with other journalist writers. Aims. The human animal was lost without tasks. They are what kept humans functioning; without interests, without something on which to concentrate people's energies, there was nothing to distract Cassandra from the abyss.

One day her friend had come to visit her and posed a question to Cassandra about what was the meaning of her imprisonment. It got her thinking. Cassandra didn’t answer her until a week later though because she had a lot of contemplating to do.

She chose a starting point.

It was 23 June, a scorching hot Wednesday, the heat having held the city in a claustrophobic, sweaty embrace for days that felt like forever. Cassandra had woken up early when the news broke.

The words hadn’t come out of their mouths yet and she already knew what the cops at the foot of her doorway were going to say. Her past had come back to haunt her and she had no other choice but to accept the karma presented to her.

“Cassandra Vilmont, you are under arrest for assistance in the commission of a crime. You have the right to….”

"Well..." 

This was it. Cassandra was heading to jail, wrists trapped in handcuffs, and the only hope she had was the sudden intervention of God's saving grace. One of the guards gave her a look. It was one of authority, power, and tyranny. She tried to look away but could not help but look him in the eye as she was silently dragged outside of her apartment by him. Cassandra was tempted to seduce him with her eyes and to whisper to him, "help me", but in the end she didn't go through with it because she knew that cops like him were immune to things like that. 

How does one stay immune from temptations of lust - and - violence? 

She tried to silence the voices that seemed to further place guilt inside her mind. Cassandra was and felt defeated. But that's the way the cookie crumbles. What was she expecting after helping someone to murder another someone? Did she expect praise and gifts? Cassandra felt that she deserved it anyway, after showing no evidence of remorse on her face as she took the mug shots and recorded her fingerprint. She was sorry that she got caught, maybe, but not sorry that she did what she had to do. 

At the time of the crime, she had ties to an underground mob. 

At the time, she was subject to dispiteous torture if she didn't comply with the rules of her leader. 

At the time, she also fell in love.

With two men actually. One had gotten her pregnant after a reckless night of heavy drinking and light flirting, and Cassandra could still remember the days he specifically told her to get an abortion. So many times she tried to fight his bile requests, but in the end she had to because she wasn't dumb enough to talk back anymore. Not after she witnessed what would happen if she tried to challenge his thoughts. 'Don't make me look like a fool' - he would say - followed by backhand slaps to Cassandra's once soft cheek, which would be red and scarred by the morning. 

There was a rule in their house. No crying allowed.

One can only imagine how hard it would be to take the beatings without letting her face be transformed by pain. She tried to squeeze her eyes tight and close her mouth as best as possible so as not to succumb to the inevitable painful sensations that would leave her broken, battered, and bruised by the end of it. 

Cassandra ran away one day. She didn't know when or even how, but it was a no-brainer to figure out the why. She was finally fed up with his endless ramblings at the dinner table, and found that she could not even look at him the same way like when she first met him. Nick. It still hurt to say his name in her head. That's that. 

She left. Without a word of goodbye, because that's just how a relationship crumbles. 

Then she met his best friend. Maverick, was his name. Cassandra never actually met him before, the better word would be noticed, maybe because she was still stuck on Nick at the time. She also didn't find out they were best friends until after they met up and performed the dirty acts (wink wink). The connection that they were both seeking didn't last for very long because even after all the commitments of loyalty Maverick had made to her, even after everything Cassandra sacrificed for him, such as her job and her apartment to go live with him, Maverick proved himself to be a sick, lying, devious cheating bastard that made the wrong decision trying to lure her in. 

When she left him as well, and started to reflect on her two only relationships, she plotted a cunning plan. One that would surely exact revenge on her ex lovers. 

The story was all over the news that two bodies had ended up in some nearby dam. Their bodies were soaked and bloodied. The attackers never got identified though, and for a long while they thought no one would ever find out, until now of course. It was Cassandra, and one other person that she had to help, and their name had been weighing on her like a mud-soaked cloak for months. She couldn't pretend to not know her anymore, and had to finally face the fact that she could no longer tell right from wrong. 

They were both wrong. And selfish. What happened was entirely out of character, probably not unprecedented, but Cassandra was always one to meet deadlines at work; she was a reliable person. But after the shit show, she lost her credibility. The mob tried hunting her down but to no avail. She moved far away to the city of Chicago, where things were going well for a while, but only for a little while. As usual, she experienced the typical hurdles of unfortunate circumstances. She was fired from her last job at the local diner, in which she had received the most embarrassing termination speech ever. The restaurant manager was an asshole anyway. She was happy to leave, more so when she was able to get hired the next day. It wasn't the job she had in mind, but it did provide her a modest salary so she wasn't complaining. Then one day after saving up a lot of money, enough to buy a car, she instead adopted a cat. Lailani was Cassandra's only friend at the time, the only non-speaking one, she should say. 

But now - it was all gone. Her job, Lailani, all her hopes and dreams. Vanished. Just like that. 

... And that's how the cookie crumbles. Karma and justice was served. Hooray.