Free Life After Death: The Shocking True Story of a Innocent Man on Death Row by Damien Echols Page A

kicked. You never make eye contact, and you constantly cringe mentally. That’s encouraged and enforced every day. The prison staff does not look at you as human, and they go out of their way to let you know it. The message that you are inferior and worthless is hammered in at every conceivable turn.
    Take, for example, the way in which we are fed. On more than one occasion I have found insects such as grasshoppers and crickets that were boiled in my broccoli or greens. That’s because after it was picked no one even bothered to wash it. If the meat is starting to go bad, just smother it in generic barbeque sauce to cover the taste. Often the food is mixed together in inedible combinations, due to lack of care—pickled beets dumped in the applesauce, or a soggy roll floating in the boiled squash. The fat- and gristle-laden meat is never fully cooked, while vegetables are boiled to the point of disintegration. The only time a decent meal is prepared by the kitchen is when a tour or inspection is sent through by some outside agency. This happens a handful of times every year.
    Every inmate in prison is assigned an account that family and friends can deposit money into, which inmates use for basic necessities. Everything in prison must be paid for. Most of the food I eat is bought with donations from supporters and friends. That alone enables me to avoid a great deal of the prison fare. Most aren’t so fortunate.
    It used to be that the greatest time for prisoners was Christmas. This was because many local churches, both Protestant and Catholic, along with the Buddhist center, the ACLU, and many independent donors, would spend their time and money putting together what were commonly called “Christmas sacks.” These sacks contained fresh fruit (Christmas is the only time of year you get it), candy, homemade cookies, pairs of socks, a couple of stamped envelopes, and various other goodies. (In prison these snacks are called “zoo-zoos” and “wham-whams.”) People would talk about these sacks, anticipating them, for many weeks ahead of time. There was excitement in the air. This was the only thing that made Christmas different from any other day. Until the year that the prison administration decided they would no longer allow the volunteers to do this. They would not be allowed in to sing Christmas carols or donate fresh food. We would receive nothing, and Christmas would be just another day, unless you count the perceptible stench of depression in the air as a difference. No one knows why this tradition was suddenly banned, other than that our overseers arrogantly declared “because I say so.” No one explains themselves to inferior creatures.
    One of the people who helped put together the Christmas sacks every year was a lady named Anna. She was from the local Buddhist center, and she visited the prison once a week to hold an hour-long meditation session. She told stories, gave teachings, and taught the inmates all sorts of Tibetan meditation practices. The number of people who could fit into the small room to attend her classes was extremely limited, so afterward she would walk from cell to cell, talking to anyone who wanted to chat or discuss a problem. She gave blessings and recited prayers, never turning anyone away. The inmates all behaved as if she were the Dalai Lama himself. You would know when she had arrived because word would spread like wildfire down the halls and through the barracks—“Anna’s here! Anna’s here!” Buddhists, Christians, Muslims—she welcomed all. She cut through the darkness like a spotlight, and for that reason the guards hated her. They did everything within their power to keep her out, but nothing worked. She would stand patiently outside the door for hours at a time until they finally had no choice but to let her in.
    Sadly enough, failing health has put a severe cramp in her lifestyle, so we no longer get to see her. I believe part of the problem was that she spread herself