On this women's prison island, dusk slowly enveloped the residential blocks. A female officer walked to close the gate of a housing block at the end of a narrow alley. The prisoners had just returned from their hard work. Tiredness has become a close friend; every muscle in our bodies ached, our legs swollen from standing and struggling under the merciless burning heat of the sun. Our bodies demand rest.
However, before we could really rest, there was one thing that relieved their fatigue a little—dinner. Even though the dish was simple and just enough to fill the stomach, no one minded. We took the woven rattan tray covered in banana leaves with a slightly expectant look, commenting on the small portions of rice and vegetables we received.
"Thank God, boiled shellfish as a side dish, btw when was the last time there was meat here? It's been a long time since the Eid sacrifice," muttered one of them in a tone full of sarcasm, staring intently at the bowl of vegetables and salted fish that looked dry.
"You wanna eat meat, is a joke, and then who will plow our rice fields?" replied the friend next to her , smiling slightly. "But, you missed it, there was a delicious beef rendang menu last month," "Yeah, that time, someone caught the piton snake, right?"
Everyone laughed softly, tired but happy to be able to joke around a bit, even though it was only about food that was far from appetizing. Their voices lowered when an officer approached them, gesturing to calm down.
After eating, they gathered in small groups in a corner of the hallway for their daily sharing session. That evening, brief but friendly conversations flowed; they talked about today's tasks or muttered a few words about the outside world which feels increasingly distant and foreign. The officer—who turned out to be a childhood friend, a schoolmate, a neighbor of one of the inmates—walked toward them, crossed her arms over her chest, and smiled slightly. The relationship between them is now layered with formalities and rules, but occasionally the warmth of the past still creeps in between jokes.
"Hey, San, you're still at home, right?" the officer teased while glancing at her childhood friend who is now a convict.
"Wow, my friend is a really cool officer, thanks for paying attention to me," replied the inmate with a small laugh.
The officer standing near her cell heard a few sentences uttered by the prisoner. With a faint smile, the officer approached, trying to understand the thoughts implied in the prisoner's joking but sharp tone.
"Ah, so you want to be an officer, huh?" The officer leaned against the cell railing, folded her arms as she looked at the prisoner in front of her . "You think it's good? Just point here, point there, everything will be fine?"
The prisoner chuckled, sarcastically. "Isn't that right? You have power, you just have to speak, the prisoners will definitely obey, right? As an officer, you don't need to be afraid of prisoners. It's not like me, who can only follow the rules every day, so be your slave."
The officer nodded slowly, understanding. "It seems like that, yes. But you don't see the other side of this job. Yes, we have power, but with that power there are also responsibilities. And believe it or not, we also have a lot of rules that have to be obeyed."
The prisoner snorted, not fully believing it. "Rules? Geez, the rules for officers are different, you make the rules yourself, so it's fine if you break them. No one will keep you in a cell like this if you break them."
The officer smiled, more seriously this time. "Maybe you don't know, but every officer here is actually 'in prison.' You see us here every day, right? It's not that we don't want to live freely, have time with our family, like ordinary people, but working here, far from the city, close to inmates who sometimes don't like us, it's not an easy thing, friend."
The prisoner looked at the officer, not expecting she would hear a story like that. "Living in a prison complex... but outside the cell, in a really comfortable dorm," she muttered, thinking about what the officer had said.
The officer nodded. "That's right. Sometimes, we're here for a whole month, we don't go home, we don't see anyone except you girls. If there's a problem, we have to solve it. If someone goes against the rules, we have to act firmly. And every day we have to be alert, watching , making sure everyone is safe."
The prisoner stared at the floor, looking pensive. "So... maybe not as beautiful as I thought being an officer would be?"
The officer smiled faintly. "It's not as beautiful as you imagine. Having power is a responsibility. Sometimes, more is demanded of us than we get. Power is not for enjoying, but for looking after you. And that's not always easy."
The prisoner fell silent, then nodded slowly, as if starting to understand something new. "So... all the officers here are confined too, only the method of confinement is different and more comfortable."
The officer smiled, this time with honest gentleness. "You can say that."
"But don't those good officers actually give us lots of rest time, instead of forced labor in the rice fields?" said the prisoner.
"Well, if that's the case, tomorrow you'll just work in the cowshed." The officer laughed, a narcissistic note woven into her joke. "Maybe you need another job so you don't get bored. Who knows, maybe I could give you a 'bonus' of a few hours for physical training to produce organic fertilizer for our garden."
"It's okay if you accompany me. You usually just tell me, but never help."
His best friend just snorted, rolling her eyes as if annoyed, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Trust me, I won't leave you here."
"Wow, she really is a loyal friend," said the officer. "But I'm sorry if I can't be a loyal friend to you. When I retire, I'll leave you alone here."
"Wow, that's really bad. When you go, don't forget to invite your best friend, so we can hang out together." replied the prisoner.
"But maybe it's possible, in at least twenty years. When I'm the head of the prison here, I'll help you with your request for clemency."
"Friendship is not about who came first or stayed longer, but about who came and never left."
Her friend, the prisoner, just shook her head with a small smile. "You really know how to motivate people, don't you," she said, chuckling tiredly. "Oh yes, when you go back to town tomorrow, don't forget to say hello to my mother, okay?"
"Yeah, I'll give your regards later. Anyway, What souvenir do you want to leave? A kilo of heroin?" replied the officer with a wink. The joke reminded her friend of the prisoner's reckless actions of international drug smuggling that had landed her forever on this prison island.
Their conversation seemed to cross the divide of time, back to a time when they were still equal. Now, these thick walls bear witness to a relationship that is no longer the same but still feels familiar. They laughed bitterly together, caught in the inevitable irony.
"We're all in the prison family now," she thought, feeling a strange warmth and sadness inside. "This is our home now, a place where we will all grow old together."
Maybe it's not the dream she ever imagined, but in fact this is the only reality she has. She imagined her life outside, the voices were faint but continued to echo like a call that she could not ignore. If one day parole comes, what will she encounter?
In her mind, she stepped slowly out of the gate, a much older figure, a decrepit body no longer as strong as before. The world outside was no longer the same, spinning so fast like a vortex that it made her shake. He wondered, would she be able to adjust? Will she be accepted? Does she have a place anymore in a world that has long abandoned her ?
She smiled bitterly. "Now who can I call?" she thought, aware that even if freedom came, she would still be a stranger among the tall buildings and unfamiliar technology of the city. The world has advanced far without waiting for her, while she is just a shadow of the past whose fate in the future is uncertain.
Their conversation, which was initially just a joke, attracted the attention of several other inmates who laughed bitterly at their jokes and complaints. Behind their clearly different statuses, there is a strange and humorous partnership that exists—an odd relationship that, somehow, brings a little warmth amidst the harsh daily routine.
After a short session, they returned to their cells, their tired faces illuminated by the dim light coming in from the barred windows. There, behind the small laughs and light jokes, is hidden a friendship that was once full of freedom, has now changed but still leaves a trace of memories of the past.
Courage to present the Truth
The next night, after the light of the oil lamp began to dim and the inmates were fast asleep, I felt that all this emotional burden had to be released. Myself restless can't sleep, sitting on the old bunk bed, What can I say? said my heart. Should I start telling my version of the story?
With a voice that was almost inaudible, I finally dared to break the silence. "Excuse me Assalamualaikum ma'am, I need to tell you something," I said quietly, turning my gaze towards the floor. He woke up, her eyes widened in surprise. "Waalaikumsalam, what do you want?" Her voice was flat, full of indifference.
Madam Hera raised her head, looked at me, but she didn't say anything. He just waited, as if she wanted to hear what I had to say.
"Mom, I love your son, Doni, I couldn't possibly kill him," I said, and I could feel how heavy those words were. "Or, at least, please think again about the reasons that could make me do it." I bit my lip, trying to hold back the tears. "We went hiking to the mountains, just to spend time together, our friends came too at that time. But everything went wrong."
Should I continue? I asked myself, but the pain had to be let out. "In the middle of the heavy rain, we had a fight... because of something stupid. I don't remember what happened. I was so angry that I left him. I thought I would come back after I calmed down. But when I came back, he was gone."
The atmosphere became increasingly heavy. Madam Hera didn't say a word, but I could feel the tension between us.
"I don't know... that was the last time I saw him alive. I didn't kill him. I swear to Allah, I didn't. I just left, and I don't know what happened after that."
My voice was barely audible as I continued. "One week later, among newspaper reports about the big flood that hit the capital, I read news that shocked me, a local farmer found him ... his body. Doni's body... at the bottom of the valley. He must have fallen. The rocks there were sharp and rough. One wrong move and…" My voice trailed off, and I covered my face with my hands, crying softly.
Why do I feel so broken? I thought. Why is all of this happening to me?
A few moments later, Madam Hera finally spoke. "I've hated you for the past twelve years," her voice was low, but there was pain in it. "Of course I blame you for everything—for the death of my son, for the ruin of my life. I'll make sure you pay for what you did."
My heart trembled at her words. "I know. I understand how you feel Ma'am, and I have struggled to understand why. Why did all this have to happen to him? Why couldn't I have done something to save him ?" I replied.
For a long moment, Madam Hera, the former judge, said nothing. My sobs began to sob in the darkness of the cell, filling the space between us. The other inmates were fast asleep, the sound of their snoring and the sound of crickets became the backdrop to my sadness.
I wiped the tears that had fallen without realizing it, my face must have been pale and tired, but I forced myself to continue talking. This is the only opportunity to voice the truth buried for years. "The police arrested me while I was preparing to leave for college," I said, my voice shaky but firm. "They came to my home with warrants in hand, as a murderer that I had planned it all from the beginning." I paused for a moment "From there, everything changed. His friends—our friends—started blaming me. They said I must have pushed him after we had a fight."
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my still irregular heartbeat. "They told the police about our fight that day. And suddenly, I was no longer the grieving boyfriend... I became a suspect, a murderer in their eyes. In your eyes, everything I said was ignored; my opinion was considered an empty defense. " I stopped for a moment, imagining the sharp stares, accusations, and distrust from everyone I once considered friends.
"The police checked my cell phone," I continued, rubbing my cold cheek, "and indeed there was an argument between us. But it was just normal conversation, like the arguments that often occur between us. We often argue—about trivial things, about dreams and future plans that don't always line up. However, in the end, we always make it up again. They don't want to know that.
I took another deep breath, remembering the nightmare of the trial. "In court, they said I had pushed her in anger, that I had planned to kill her because of our previous quarrel. The public prosecutor accused me of intentionally and with premeditation to take the life of another person," as stated in Article 340 of the Criminal Code in conjunction with Article 55 paragraph (1) 1st of the Criminal Code as the first primary charge.. And the trial went so fast. It's as if no one cares what's really going on."
My eyes met Madam Hera's eyes, asking for understanding. "There was no direct evidence at the time, but there was no defense either. They didn't listen to me. I kept telling them that I didn't push her , that it was an accident—or at least, I thought so. But no one believed me."
My hands shook as I wiped away the remaining tears.
"The judge read my verdict,"
Declare that the defendant has been legally and convincingly proven guilty of committing the crime of "committing premeditated murder", as in the First Indictment. Sentencing the defendant Sarah Ratnawati bint H. Suryo Subranto, therefore with a prison sentence LIFE in prison."
"I was 18 when they put me in prison."
"For a year, I tried to file appeals up to the supreme court, thinking maybe someone, anyone, would listen. But the same thing happened again. Nobody believed me. Everyone saw me as the girl who deliberately pushed her boyfriend to death."
"That's enough for you to tell your sad story, the state has punished you, justice has been served," interrupted Madam Hera. "What do I want now, we are both here, in this prison?"
When Madam Hera interrupted my story, I fell silent, bowed my head, letting my mind reflect on the bitterness that I had been holding tightly. At my barely mature age, my life was upended by a verdict that, to the outside world, appeared to be justice served. But here, behind bars, the word "justice" feels foreign, as if it were just a word without any real meaning.
To me, this life sentence feels like a slow death. It's not just my body that is imprisoned, but also my dreams, my hopes, and my belief in living freely. I know, in the eyes of the law, I have been found guilty; I wasn't given a chance to speak or defend myself anymore. The law of the land says I deserve to be punished, but in my heart there remains a small remnant of hope—however faint—that the truth will someday emerge.
I fell silent, thinking about all the injustice I had received. According to state law, a life sentence means I will not get a chance to be free, imprisoned until death here, unless there is a change in the law, pardon from the President to get parole. It is also very difficult to obtain, I have to admit the crime which is not my fault. President clemency is so difficult, many are forced to wait more than 20 years to get it.
Madam Hera looked at me with a sharp gaze, her eyes held the fatigue that I recognized on the faces of the old prison inmates.
"Sarah, how long are you going to hold on with that hanging hope?" she said flatly, but in a tone that somehow made my heart sink. "I know, you still feel innocent. But that hope that you never let go of can turn into a chain here. Constantly waiting for justice from the world that has punished you, can destroy you from the inside."
I tried to open my mouth to reply, but Madam Hera raised her hand, telling me to be quiet.
"Listen, Sarah. Life here is hard. Pain, regret, and hidden hopes—all of that can kill you slowly if you let it. So, if you want to survive here, you have to learn to accept it, even if it's bitter. You can wait for a miracle, but don't let that waiting become a new prison for you. Learn to live in the midst of this reality. That's the only way to stay sane."
Her words hung in the air, penetrating slowly into me. In her eyes, I saw that she too had perhaps had the same hope, the desire to be freed, to be proven right. However, who knows how long it took to force her to accept the reality without any high hopes.
I took a deep breath, remembering every word she said. Maybe it was true, in a place like this, the endless waiting could be crueler than the bars that confined me.
Silence enveloped us again. We were trapped in each other's sadness, the cell walls felt increasingly oppressive. However, at that moment, I felt there was a thin thread between us—a thread of understanding that might be able to bridge all these wounds.
What will happen next? I thought, looking at Madam Hera. We both don't know yet. But for the first time, we have shared our story, and it may be the beginning of something we never expected.
My voice dropped to a whisper. "I accepted my destiny, when finally I was transferred here, to this women's prison island, and that's when I started to accept my fate, accept that maybe this was my destiny. There was no future for me anymore." I took a deep breath, feeling the burden I had carried for years. "After twelve years here, I've stopped hoping for anything. I've made peace with all of this."
But am I really at peace? I thought, biting my lip as if considering whether to reveal what was on my mind. Then, with a soft sigh, I continued, my words filled with a mixture of submission and defiance. "And for what it's worth, your arrival here reopened my bad memory" I added, almost as a forgotten thought, "I'm still an unmarried girl. I'm trying to stay straight in prison life, although… well, you can imagine how hard it is in a place like this."
The expression of Madam Hera, the former judge, was a little surprised, but still cold. Yet, there was something flickering behind her eyes—doubt, perhaps, or perhaps something deeper. He had spent years believing that I was responsible for her son's death, that I had taken her only child. But now, hearing this story, something in her legal instincts awakened. My voice did not carry the tone of a liar. I don't avoid or divert; I open my soul.
Am I doing the right thing? My question tickled my mind, as the judge's jaw clenched. She struggles with her own emotions, trying to understand how it is possible for a girl who was considered a monster to now look so vulnerable.
"Do you really expect me to believe that? After all this time?" Finally Madam Hera said, her voice low and rough.
I shook my head. "I don't expect anything from you m'am. I just want you to know the truth."
Silence fell between us again, adding weight to the atmosphere. The former judge is adrift. He has built her life on facts, evidence, and the belief that justice has been served. But now, sitting across from me—the girl who should have taken everything from her — Madam Hera wasn't so sure anymore.
"I don't know, it's been twelve years," she said, her voice fading, but with a tremor of uncertainty. "I know. You have also spent twelve years in this prison. Is that enough? Is that enough time to forget the memories of Doni, my son, I still blame you for everything—for taking my son, for ruining my life... but I don't know how long it will last. all this suffering will fade," My heart trembled at her words.
Can I explain? I thought, when Madam Hera closed her eyes, her mind was full of flashbacks to the sad day her son's body was discovered. She was devastated. Investigators named me, Sarah, as the last person to see him alive. But now, both of us sitting here, I hope someday her instincts wanted to admit: I was telling the truth.
A glimmer of hope
"I don't know if I'll ever forgive you," said Madam Hera, her voice barely audible, "but now I'm starting to believe a little that you are an honest girl, you may not have killed him ."
A new hope? I thought. We sat in the heavy silence of our shared grief, the prison walls seeming to press closer around us. We are connected by tragedy, by loss, and now, perhaps, by the fragile thread of understanding.
What will happen next? I asked myself. None of us knew. But for the first time, we have shared our story, and it was the beginning of something we never expected.
"If only I could go back to that day," I continued, my voice trembling, "I would wish I could do something different. I would fix everything."
Madam Hera opened her eyes, looking at me with unexpected intensity. "But how? Is there anything that can be done? Going back in time is impossible."
"I know," I replied, "but sharing this truth feels like the first step. At least, now you know that I'm not as bad as you thought."
He nodded slowly, and I could feel a bridge starting to form between us.
"It's late at night, go to sleep," said Madam Hera. "Tomorrow, we have a lot of things to do.", finally, her previously even voice softened a little, "maybe we can start talking more tomorrow. Maybe there's something we can learn from each other."
Her words filled me with hope, and I felt a thin thread of connection weave between us, uniting two wounded souls. Is it possible, after all that has happened, that we can find a path to understanding?
Sweet dreams
The night continued to pass in thick silence in the cell block, only occasionally disturbed by the sound of crickets in the distance, the snores of several people sleeping in exhaustion, or the small moans of someone who was delirious in their sleep. There was also a moment when the sound of a body falling from a bed was heard, startling the entire block. The flying mosquitoes seemed to give up, stopping our efforts to disturb the rest of the very tired women, as if realizing that the tiredness of our souls was much deeper than just disturbed sleep.
However, despite being separated from family, friends, and past friends, at least in this place we have found something that resembles family. Among our fellow inmates, amidst the harshness of life on this prison island, we formed a new bond—a family that, although formed from the wounds and sins of the past, is the only one we can rely on.
In reality here, dreams are just dreams, there is no room for fairy tales with happy endings, there are only empty hopes for most of us who live a hard life in this prison.
The harsh reality is also always present, looming around every corner, reminding us that our lives here have changed forever. There is no husband waiting, no children to call "Mom," no home to return to. Only long years await, ahead. And when—or if—that time of freedom comes, when one of us can step off this island, the world there may no longer even remember who she is.
Until finally, at four in the morning, a loud bell broke the silence, accompanied by the sound of a startled rooster crowing, welcoming the arrival of morning. The chirping of the birds also woke up all the prison inmates, disrupting sweet dreams, making the prisoners start to move. With stiff bodies and still half-sleepy, they stretched, stretching sore muscles and rubbing eyes that were still heavy, preparing to face the new day. A short night's rest wasn't enough to restore energy, but there was no time to think about that. Routine awaits, and the same cycle—hard work, hunger, and fatigue—comes upon us again, giving us the only hope of returning to a thin mattress when night falls.
However, behind all that fatigue, each of us still holds hope, a vague ideal, something that may feel too far to reach, but is enough to be the reason we survive. Every morning, when the bell rings a second time, we don't just get up to go to work. We also rise to achieve dreams that are almost unimaginable—freedom, peace, and life outside the walls that have limited our steps.