Mark got up for his shift at the prison. His usual breakfast of cold cereal, toast, and coffee woke him up. He looked in the mirror while brushing his teeth and put on his metaphorical mask for the day. He wondered what today would bring; thirty-five years in as a prison guard and still not free to live.

When he arrived at the prison, it was 5:00 a.m. He went to get breakfast for the prisoners. The usual slop of porridge, apples, and instant coffee. He piled the trays, same as every morning, and walked through the dog track; the trail of doors that kept everyone in solitary confinement. Handing out food and letting them shower—one at a time—was all he really did.

While he gave in to the wants of the prisoners, such as getting books for them, toiletries, or clothing, he thought about how he was working a triple shift today. He needed the money. Rent didn’t care how tired he was. The clocks in the prison would constantly tick vanishing sand that would make Mark question his sanity. As if time would slow down while he worked.

“Was he also a prisoner in this place?”

He got reassigned to the yard shift with the prisoners out in the sun. He watched as they played basketball on the blacktop. The sun stood in place for what seemed like hours before all the prisoners stopped talking and playing their games. The sound of sneakers squeaking and basketballs bouncing suddenly vanished. A scuffle broke out between two prisoners. The yard fell silent, everything frozen—except the sounds of fists and bone.

Mark slammed his baton against the fence. ‘Break it up!’ he barked. That’s when he noticed the prisoner was bleeding and part of his face was ripped off, revealing a face behind it. Then, one by one, the prisoners turned to him. With slow, deliberate hands, they peeled their faces off, revealing his.

Mark stared at them before he started to reach to his own face.