Bitcoin Magazine
Samourai Letter #5: The Skinwalker
Dear Reader,
It has been a while since we last spoke. My last letter was written on the anniversary of my first month of incarceration at FPC Morgantown, the second month of being here has now come and gone. Truth be told I have struggled to think of what I could write to you all.
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To be sure, there are some things and topics I would like to explore but I simply cannot without breaking rules or getting myself or someone else into trouble, so those stories will have to wait I am afraid. My wife suggests that I tell you all about some of various characters I have had the pleasure (and displeasure) of encountering here. I am not sure it would make for a good letter but she certainly seems to enjoy the stories I tell when we meet each weekend.
Someone else I respect suggested I write about my feelings, which is a mortifying proposition. ‘Feelings’ as far as I am concerned are like recounting the previous nights dreams or sharing holiday photos, best kept to your self. I have also had feedback that these letters have been helpful for those who have loved ones incarcerated in Federal custody to help them understand what it is they are going through. So, what will this letter be? I am still unsure, I am just going to write and see what comes out. Let us begin with an update since I last wrote.
On February 18th, the day before the two month anniversary of my stay here at FPC Morgantown I was woken up for the final time that night at 3:30 AM. The first time I was woken up was at the 12:00 AM count by the prick guard that insists on shining his flashlight directly into your sleeping face letting it linger there until your sleep is disturbed.
This repeated at the 3:00AM count and woke me up for a second time that night. Against all odds I managed to fall back asleep, though that mercy was to be short lived. At 3:30 AM I was woken up by the only thing more grating than the prick guard and his flashlight, the sound of “slides” (a type of sandal that you slide your feet into) lazily shuffling down the concrete floor of the open dormitory. Swishhhh Swoooosh Swishhhh Swoooosh the sound provokes a visceral response deep in my psyche that makes me want to shout “Pick your damn feet up when you walk!”. Instead I sigh and think to myself “the Skinwalker is off to bed finally”.
Now I owe you an explanation of course, ‘The Skinwalker’ is not his Christian name, rather that is what I have named him since I first got here and noticed his downright odd appearance. The only way I can really explain his appearance to myself is by imagining a race of hostile reptilian aliens who upon arrival to Earth abducted and gutted several humans and are using their bodies as some sort of skin suit.
His skin is so tight