Daycare Diaries: Inside The Mind Of The World’s Youngest Prisoner

Day #1: Baby Jail: It Could Happen To You

This morning, instead of driving towards a coffee shop or grocery store, I was brought to an undisclosed location and dropped off entirely against my will. It became apparent however, as my captor unloaded my belongings into my so-called “cubby”, that this had been planned for quite some time. While I’d already been given a full meal, I ate half a piece of toast, some crackers, and a pouch of pureed fruit and veg – more so out of shock than pure hunger. I could feel myself suffocating but then, as we went outside for a walk around the premises, I slowly regained my breath. The guards at this prison are not outwardly cruel, in fact they seem to go out of their way to be as nice to me as possible. I’m convinced  it’s all part of the ruse, although I’m still trying to identify the end game. Whether they wish to carry out experiments on my young, unscathed body or push my fresh, open mind to the absolute brink; they will live to regret the day they tried to contain me. I made a decision after nibbling on those delicious fish shaped, cheese filled crackers; no more food. For as long as they keep me here, I will not eat. Let the hunger strike begin.

Day #2: I Won The Battle But The War Goes On.

They threw me off yesterday when I was brought back home and spent what seemed like a normal day touring the area with my chauffeur/cook/maid. I was convinced it had all been but a dream, but then, this morning, I suddenly woke up and realized that the nightmare was to be my reality for yet another day. It took all that I had not to give in. I had started on my 6oz bottle prior to leaving but stopped halfway because today was the day I would solve the puzzle I’ve been working on for what seems like months. I just can’t seem to get that circular piece in the square looking slot, but it will happen; I know it will. I was transported once again to my colourful quarters and spent six hours alongside my fellow inmate. There’s only besides me, although I can hear the cries of others echoing from somewhere down the hall. The boy I’m with doesn’t say much. He can however, seem to walk without support. For all I know, they could be testing some sort of muscle enhancer on the poor kid. I bet they put it in the food. I’ll see if he’d like to join me in protest later, when the guards aren’t listening. I’ve noticed however that the rooms are equipped with video cameras. They’re always listening.

Today I was composed enough to take in my surroundings. The walls seem to be decorated with shapes resembling animals and objects found in nature. Maybe it’s meant to be calming, but I feel out of touch with my surroundings, unsure of what it all means. There are barred cells resembling cribs where they put us to sleep once a day. While I have no doubt it’s during this time that they try to infiltrate the mind of babes, I can’t help but drift slowly into a peaceful slumber. They let me keep George with me at all times. George is my giraffe, and he will protect me. They play music in order to control how long we’re out, but I’ve managed to shorten my sleep to one hour and wake up crying in protest as soon as my time is up.

My stomach is rumbling. The hunger is eating away at me. I can smell the chicken and pasta cooking in the kitchen but I refuse to eat once again and this time, I will stay the course. I show the guards my intentions by whipping food across the table and shaking my head frantically from side to side. My guards have given in and called my driver to collect me. I have won today’s battle, but the war is far from over.

Day #3: Hungry, Tired and Back Behind Bars

It’s day #3 of my hunger strike and things aren’t looking good. They brought me back to this prison despite my self-inflicted starvation. I’m convinced my driver took a different route this time so I wouldn’t suspect where we were headed. My day started normally enough. Nothing suspect. I woke up around 7:30am or so when my assistant came in to change my nappy and get me dressed. As per usual, I was then ushered into the bathroom where my hair was pulled back, my teeth were brushed and my face plunged into lukewarm water as a cloth wiped off any leftovers from the night before in addition to liquids running down my face not unlike those found exiting the nose of the inmate from day #2 of my time in the joint. Whatever they gave him, it’s contagious.

I was dropped off around 9am again and made to sit down and play with the so-called toys. I’m not sure if they’re bugged or a test to determine my mental state but I absolutely refuse to take part. Once in a while I break and climb on the “toys” but only in order to decipher their meaning and find hidden microphones. I haven’t found anything yet but I know they’re in there. After having yet another day of rest to better prepare my stomach, I happily continued my hunger strike and refused to touch the lunch they so carefully prepared. I can feel a tooth erupting through the top gum which makes restraining myself easier to bear.

It is 7:15pm now as I transcribe this entry using crayons stolen from one the older kids. I find myself conflicted regarding next steps. Upon being withdrawn from my hellish prison mid-afternoon, I overheard my driver/cook/maid who I normally refer to as “mother”  tell one of the guards that she has accepted a full-time job being her awesome, talented, beautiful self (ahem). Will this become my harsh reality? Am I destined to spend day after day behind these fun-filled walls where people suspiciously do nothing but try to meet my every need? My soul is in crisis and I am afraid the hunger pangs will move past my stomach and into my heart. I am filled with blackness and have been abandoned by those who truly love me. I know not what the future holds and will not sleep well tonight, or any night. Nobody will.