Rubbing the photo on my white cotton shirt attempting to remove the dirt, I ask myself: “What did I do to deserve this?” Though I expected to find my cell in total disarray after the search, I still was not prepared for what I saw upon entering the cage I call home. A tornado has swept through my world. The mattress, sheets, and clothes are draping slovenly over my steel bunk and locker. The letters from family and friends that help me survive in prison are now scattered on the concrete floor, and the books that teach me to treat others as I want to be treated hide beneath the debris of this man-made disaster. Just when I think this is the extent of the damage, I find boot prints on the innocent faces of my infant nephews.