“Sometimes our circumstances leave us predisposed to vulnerability, or sometimes temptations. Maybe even desperation. Or some of us perhaps grew up thinkin’ what we did was right, and we found whatever reason we could to justify our actions. Little by little, small at first and unnoticeable-”
A few claws and hooves tapped absentmindedly against the metal fold-up chairs settled in the open space of the room atop the dull marble-tiled floor. Fluorescent lights flickered briefly before continuing their white noise hum above the heads of several Zootopian residents, some clad in their required prison garb and others dressed in casual street clothes; the latter visiting the prison rather than prisoners themselves.
Prison could be a dangerous place- a closed container with a harsh pecking order and the oil-slick road to recovery and freedom laden with temptations, former urges, and mentalities not so easily shed. That was why he had these sessions, these group-therapies. In a place where most felt the need to constantly and tirelessly put on a stoic face, Bruce wanted a time when vulnerabilities and weaknesses could be shared without judgment. And- he hoped- a shared measure of experience and encouragement would further help along those whose sentences had been served and keep them out of the cages.
“- until eventually, one way or ‘nother, someone got ‘urt. Maybe it was a family member. Or a complete stranger. Maybe it was yerself. But what matters ‘ere and now is ‘ow ye face what happened and what ye do from ‘ere on out,” Bruce continued. Perhaps it might have been easy for the nine-foot tall polar bear to be the group-therapy speaker; in such a hostile environment, his stature and baritone, growling voice almost demanded respect- or, in the very least, attention. He was, after all, difficult to miss.
“Now, would anyone like to go first in the testimonials? Don’t be shy, now.”
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