Showing posts with label crime and punishment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crime and punishment. Show all posts
Sunday, June 19, 2011
AN ANGEL IN DISGUISE.
It was winter, 2007 when I was extradited from France to Spain. After first being incarcerated in the Douai dungeon, I was transferred to Fresnes prison near Paris. Fresnes is notorious for being the harshest prison in France but I was soon to find myself in a much darker place.
I stood on tiptoe to see through my cell window, the falling snow, wispily settling on the coils of razor wire mounted around the high walls of Daroca prison. The night was coming in fast so it was disheartening to see the shadows across the bleak countryside through the coils of wire as my spirits fell to a new low.
Even the name of the place sounds ominous; Daroca, say it to yourself, it is not a nice word is it? It goes well with the bleak landscape and approaching storm.
I climbed into my bed as the night enveloped the prison and the volume of the rumbling thunder increased. Pulling my blanket around me I listened to the sounds of the night in this evil place and thought about my day and the people I share my space with in this dark corner of the world.
A face looms into my thoughts, a calm face with bushy eyebrows over ice-blue eyes. He looks at me across the dining table in the comedor (canteen), his eyes look right through me as though he is elsewhere. I am sharing my space and the air I breathe with a man who has eaten his wife - a cannibal, and here he is within touching distance chewing on a piece of meat and looking at me!
To my right is a young man who chopped off his uncle's head with a Samurai sword. He chats amiably to the man next to him who raped and mutilated his thirteen year old niece, thirteen was unlucky for her, and especially considering the length of time it took for her to die. I could go on describing the creatures around me but it would become unbelievable for you and you will doubt my word.
The storm is now a tempest and the thunder is reminiscent of ice cracking across a pond, but a million times louder. The lightning is alarming and illuminates my dank cell like a disco strobe light giving me the awful feeling that it is heralding the arrival of something evil and malevolent.
I can hear the cockroaches scratching the floor under my bed as they search for food and beneath that I hear the susurrations of the sleet and rain as it runs in rivulets down my cell window. The muffled sounds of the screams of madmen are barely audible through the thick walls, but they are there; the storm taking its toll on the warped minds of my fellow prisoners.
I feel sleep is near so I curl into my foetal position before taking a last look at the window and falling into sleep.
I could see condensation on the glass, fogging my view of the night sky through the bars of the cell window. The pale glow of the sodium security lights shone through the rivulets of rain on the cracked glass creating a ghostly shimmer.
My heightened sense of imagination played havoc with my mind's eye as I peered through the sparkling glass to see two shimmering points of light which slowly changed colour to that of red glowing coals. Pinpointed in the centre of each red glow is a glittering diamond which formed the eyes of Satan. He is here, hovering over Daroca prison, sinister and threatening.
His murky features taking shape and form with the movement of cloud and the upward glow of prison lights, El Diablo is here, spreading his evil shadow over the netherworld of Daroca.
A numbing sensation sweeps over me, paralysing me with a feeling of total helplessness as the fetid face looms near.
His fangs move as though gnashing his teeth and every sinew of his monstrous form drips with evil as I realise he has come for me. In the silence of the moment I freaked out internally and choked on the scream that didn't come out.
It was as though I was lying face down on a water bed and it was suddenly flipped over so the water bed was suffocating me with its weight. The terrifying emotion of stress and panic created feelings of intense heat across my back followed by ice under the hot skin. My arms and legs felt like they were covered with raspberries because of the size of the goose bumps.
I was frozen with fear as I felt his force searching my soul. 'My God and His son Jesus Christ are in there; so get ye behind me Satan.' The prayers spilled out of me as the fear intensified and the terror gnawed into my heart as the evil loomed over me, trying to consume me.
My heart was racing as the monster's face descended towards me. My chest felt crushed and my stomach started to liquefy as the brilliant white light hit my face.
'Recuento, recuento!' Shouted the duty prison officer, as he performed the final head count of the day, his voice and bright light dissipating the evil red eyes of Satan.
In his accented English, Don Gabriel, the duty screw said, 'Good night, Christopher, the storm has gone. Sleep well, Englishman.'
He slammed the big steel door and noisily crashed the massive bolt home and was gone to chase the demons from the minds of his charges.
I got out of bed and knelt in seizan, the martial arts meditating posture and meditated on my mind cleansing waterfall method of dissipating stress. I then said The Lord's prayer and jumped into bed, never again to be disturbed by Satan, thanks to Gabriel, the angel in prison officers' uniform.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Kenny Noye - Public Enemy No 1.
Kenny Noye With Me In Prison.
Valdemoro Prison, Madrid, Spain. 1998.
I arrived on wing 9 (the international wing) after being processed through ingreso, the reception wing of Spain's top security prison. I was carrying my bag of personal belongings and a mattress, sheets and blankets. With aching arms and much relief, I dropped the lot at the bottom of the stairs next to the wing office.
A screw (prison officer) told me to search out any Brits here who I might share a cell with, or he will allocate me a cell. Not wanting to be placed with Arabs, Turks or Gypsies, I hurriedly entered the sala (recreation room) and searched for Northern European faces. I spoke to several frogs, clogs and krauts (French, Dutch and Germans) before I hit on an English face who talked out of the side of his mouth.
He very cautiously questioned me about why I was in Valdemoro. I told him I had been transferred from La Moraleja prison in Dueñas, near Palencia to attend my trial in Madrid. He asked if I knew Kenny Noye was in here. I told him I didn't. He asked if I would like to meet him. I said that I prefer to find a place to live before the screw finds one for me. He told me not to worry because there was a bed in his cell. I immediately went back to the screw and told him I am in with the Brit face.
The Brit accompanied me through the noisy sala into another large recreation room lined with bookshelves and men quietly reading and writing at tables dotted about the place. My new cell-mate told me to wait while he approached a lone figure hunched over a writing pad. He whispered something out of the side of his mouth and stepped back so the man could eyeball me. A perceptive little nod and the Brit face beckoned me over. I walked over to the table to look down on the hard face staring back at me. He looked a bit younger than me and looked tanned and fit. He gave me a craft (masonic) handshake, which I responded to and asked if I needed anything. I pulled a chair and joined him and that was the beginning of getting to know each other. I had just met Britain's public enemy number one, Kenneth Noye.
We didn't become big pals or anything like, but we dined together three times a day, we trained in the gym and we marched around the yard day after day chewing the fat about all kinds of things. There is a lot more to say, but that and what I think about Kenny Noye can wait till my next blog.
Valdemoro Prison, Madrid, Spain. 1998.
I arrived on wing 9 (the international wing) after being processed through ingreso, the reception wing of Spain's top security prison. I was carrying my bag of personal belongings and a mattress, sheets and blankets. With aching arms and much relief, I dropped the lot at the bottom of the stairs next to the wing office.
A screw (prison officer) told me to search out any Brits here who I might share a cell with, or he will allocate me a cell. Not wanting to be placed with Arabs, Turks or Gypsies, I hurriedly entered the sala (recreation room) and searched for Northern European faces. I spoke to several frogs, clogs and krauts (French, Dutch and Germans) before I hit on an English face who talked out of the side of his mouth.
He very cautiously questioned me about why I was in Valdemoro. I told him I had been transferred from La Moraleja prison in Dueñas, near Palencia to attend my trial in Madrid. He asked if I knew Kenny Noye was in here. I told him I didn't. He asked if I would like to meet him. I said that I prefer to find a place to live before the screw finds one for me. He told me not to worry because there was a bed in his cell. I immediately went back to the screw and told him I am in with the Brit face.
The Brit accompanied me through the noisy sala into another large recreation room lined with bookshelves and men quietly reading and writing at tables dotted about the place. My new cell-mate told me to wait while he approached a lone figure hunched over a writing pad. He whispered something out of the side of his mouth and stepped back so the man could eyeball me. A perceptive little nod and the Brit face beckoned me over. I walked over to the table to look down on the hard face staring back at me. He looked a bit younger than me and looked tanned and fit. He gave me a craft (masonic) handshake, which I responded to and asked if I needed anything. I pulled a chair and joined him and that was the beginning of getting to know each other. I had just met Britain's public enemy number one, Kenneth Noye.
We didn't become big pals or anything like, but we dined together three times a day, we trained in the gym and we marched around the yard day after day chewing the fat about all kinds of things. There is a lot more to say, but that and what I think about Kenny Noye can wait till my next blog.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Execute Paedophiles.
Execute Paedophiles.
During the years I spent behind bars in foreign prisons I met many child sex killers. They were all without remorse except for their own self-pity. Some, not all are mentioned in my books ‘Carabanchel’ and ‘The Lone Brit on 13’.
I am not a psychologist, nor am I qualified in any ‘shrink’ capacity, but having met these awful men and being a father myself, my conclusions are that they should be put to death immediately after being proved guilty.
I understand people who think execution is the easy way out for the child sex killer, but we need to consider the loved ones of the victim and the mental anguish they endure daily as they think about what goes on behind bars.
I will now tell you about things the media seems not to want to reveal or besmirch their pages with.
Nonce (paedophiles) lifers accept their sentences more easily than other prisoners. The life sentence is assimilated and made more acceptable mentally because they are frightened of the consequences of being released back into a hostile society. This fear is a buffer and helps them to get their heads around their long sentence.
Their lifestyle in prison is much better than, let’s say, a homeless individual who lives rough on the streets of London. They have many home comforts like television and radio, and at least three good meals a day. They have a comfortable room which they can arrange to their liking and they furnish it with familiar items from visiting relatives.
The unpalatable vision for the victim’s loved ones is the homosexual partnerships they form with their ilk. Child sex killers performing anal sex and oral sex with each other whilst visualising their bestial acts on the children they killed to achieve sexual gratification.
How would you feel if you had recently buried the sad remains of your child after he or she had been mutilated and slaughtered by a nonce that is now living his life in surroundings they accept and enjoy? I know how I would feel.
I have had to endure the company of these evil men because in foreign prisons they are not segregated like they are in the UK. I have witnessed them enjoying themselves and making the best of their lot in prison. They have wanted to talk to me because I am different, I am an Englishman and they have never met an Englishman before. I have looked into their evil eyes and I am proud to say that I have blackened a few of them. I have beaten some of them to within an inch of their lives and for the life of me; I couldn’t find any remorse, even though they have never harmed my children. So how must a victim’s loved ones feel?
If you are a prison psychologist you probably disagree with me because if they started executing these creatures, you wouldn’t have so many nutters to play with. Also, you may like to remember this: they do not say the things to you what they say to the likes of me. They will never reveal to you what makes them tick, but I know… the relentless pursuit of brutal, ripping, child sex makes them tick, and if ever they get out of prison they will strike again.
If you read my prison writing you will discover that I am in no way politically correct, but I do know what is right when it comes to child sex killers: put them to death so the victim’s family can get some closure and grieve without visualising masturbating and humping nonce queers behind prison walls.
It is my opinion that nonces are not frightened of the consequences of getting caught. It is time to change that lack of fear and I say, ‘Put them to death.’
Chris. www.chrischance.co.uk
During the years I spent behind bars in foreign prisons I met many child sex killers. They were all without remorse except for their own self-pity. Some, not all are mentioned in my books ‘Carabanchel’ and ‘The Lone Brit on 13’.
I am not a psychologist, nor am I qualified in any ‘shrink’ capacity, but having met these awful men and being a father myself, my conclusions are that they should be put to death immediately after being proved guilty.
I understand people who think execution is the easy way out for the child sex killer, but we need to consider the loved ones of the victim and the mental anguish they endure daily as they think about what goes on behind bars.
I will now tell you about things the media seems not to want to reveal or besmirch their pages with.
Nonce (paedophiles) lifers accept their sentences more easily than other prisoners. The life sentence is assimilated and made more acceptable mentally because they are frightened of the consequences of being released back into a hostile society. This fear is a buffer and helps them to get their heads around their long sentence.
Their lifestyle in prison is much better than, let’s say, a homeless individual who lives rough on the streets of London. They have many home comforts like television and radio, and at least three good meals a day. They have a comfortable room which they can arrange to their liking and they furnish it with familiar items from visiting relatives.
The unpalatable vision for the victim’s loved ones is the homosexual partnerships they form with their ilk. Child sex killers performing anal sex and oral sex with each other whilst visualising their bestial acts on the children they killed to achieve sexual gratification.
How would you feel if you had recently buried the sad remains of your child after he or she had been mutilated and slaughtered by a nonce that is now living his life in surroundings they accept and enjoy? I know how I would feel.
I have had to endure the company of these evil men because in foreign prisons they are not segregated like they are in the UK. I have witnessed them enjoying themselves and making the best of their lot in prison. They have wanted to talk to me because I am different, I am an Englishman and they have never met an Englishman before. I have looked into their evil eyes and I am proud to say that I have blackened a few of them. I have beaten some of them to within an inch of their lives and for the life of me; I couldn’t find any remorse, even though they have never harmed my children. So how must a victim’s loved ones feel?
If you are a prison psychologist you probably disagree with me because if they started executing these creatures, you wouldn’t have so many nutters to play with. Also, you may like to remember this: they do not say the things to you what they say to the likes of me. They will never reveal to you what makes them tick, but I know… the relentless pursuit of brutal, ripping, child sex makes them tick, and if ever they get out of prison they will strike again.
If you read my prison writing you will discover that I am in no way politically correct, but I do know what is right when it comes to child sex killers: put them to death so the victim’s family can get some closure and grieve without visualising masturbating and humping nonce queers behind prison walls.
It is my opinion that nonces are not frightened of the consequences of getting caught. It is time to change that lack of fear and I say, ‘Put them to death.’
Chris. www.chrischance.co.uk
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