No More Tomorrows by Schapelle Corby

Author:Schapelle Corby [Corby, Schapelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House UK
Published: 2011-01-17T23:00:00+00:00

14

Media Frenzy

Another month starting. Please, judges, listen and do the right thing; do what is right. Please. I cannot take this place any more.

Woke around 4 a.m. to girls yelling, reminding the new girl that she’ll be bashed. Our cells were opened at 7.30 a.m., the girls attacked her, then the guards sent the girl to the TV room. Soon after, Sonia followed . . . the guards also followed . . . the girl jumped towards Sonia. The girl had scissors hidden down the front of her pants. Sonia and the girl were then taken to the office, but not before the girl started attacking a woman guard. We were all locked up in our cells again at 8.45 a.m.

At the office, the new girl told the guards that some girls have mobiles, that we have gas camping stoves and that she’s going to get a knife and use it. So every cell was checked, everything of danger was taken, the stoves – we can’t cook any more, boil water for coffee, noodles: now we only have the rice that comes around in the cart. Thank God I have friends and family here to look after me. The guards took all the spoons, the handles off the buckets, the pots and pans, and of course all the phones and drugs. They also took any money they could find, except the money from my room – they didn’t pocket that. We were let out of our cage at 2 p.m. When will all this be over?

Diary entry, 1 April 2005

I WANTED TO WAKE UP FROM THIS NIGHTMARE. MY HEART was hurting. I was so tired, so scared, so alone. I had no one to turn to, no one to talk to. Everything I did, everything I said, was leaked to the press. Any way I turned, people were taking photos of me, selling stories about me. If I simply said ‘I didn’t sleep well last night’, it was printed. Prisoners, guards, doctors, lawyers, church people, all trying to fill their pockets, all trying to take a ride on Schapelle. I could trust no one but my family, and they were all hurting too much for me to burden them with any more. I had to rely on myself. It was lonely.

I was living from moment to moment. I was jumpy, edgy, strung out and waiting for the next drama, the next turn of bad luck, the next killer blow. Why was this happening to me? What had I done in a past life? I was terrified of my next day in court, when the prosecutors would make their demand: maybe life, maybe death. It was possible that this cruel and bitter twist of fate might mean the end of my old life for ever, and I was petrified.

I’d spent all night sobbing, shaking, curled up on my mattress, waiting for the sun to come up on the day. The prosecutors had come into jail a few times, as I was still under their care until the verdict, and they’d promised to look after me.

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