Alexa Daskalakis

The Distance Between Cells

One wall. A friendship made entirely of echoes.

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They met without seeing each other.

One was from upstate. One from the coast.
One grew up around church bells and porch lights. The other knew trains, sirens, and neon flicker.
They never gave their full names. Never asked why the other was there.
They spoke through the vent between their cells.

At first, it was nothing.
A cough.
A hum.
A sentence cut short.

But time, in places like that, is long and wide.
And loneliness needs somewhere to go.

So they began leaving things behind.
Not objects—there was nothing to give.
But stories.
One would speak after lights out.
The other would whisper before dawn.

They never said “good morning” or “good night.”
Only, “Still there?”
And, “Still here.”

—

One taught the other how to fold paper into shapes using commissary receipts.
One described the sea so vividly the other dreamed of salt.

They spoke of meals they missed.
People they didn’t.
They laughed softly—careful not to draw attention.
And they shared silence when laughter hurt too much.

—

Sometimes, they made up places.
Cities that didn’t exist.
Laws that were kind.
Rooms with doors that stayed unlocked.
Windows that opened from both sides.

And once—just once—they promised:

If I get out first, I’ll leave a mark on the train station wall.
A chalk star.
You’ll know.

—

Years blurred.
One was moved.
The vent stayed quiet.

But in another city, far off,
in a station most people never look twice at,
there’s a chalk star.

No name.
No message.

Just the proof that someone was heard.

And maybe—still is.

⸻
End.

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Full Legal and Creative Disclaimer:
This is a fictional work. It does not depict real events, people, legal systems, or institutions. Any resemblance to actual individuals—living or deceased—is purely coincidental. This piece is not autobiographical and does not reflect the author’s personal experiences or opinions. References to imagined places, “laws that were kind,” or other idealized concepts represent the emotional perspectives of fictional characters—not the author’s beliefs or commentary. The work is not intended to endorse or critique incarceration, justice systems, or social policy. It is solely a creative narrative exploring human connection through an imagined lens.