QUACK

Whittling Horse

Children's children are the crown of old men,

and the glory of children, their fathers.

- Proverbs 17: 6

THIS CHAPTER IS FROM AARON'S POINT OF VIEW

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Like I’ve said, prison is a place for thieves and killers and a small number of genuinely innocent people. Apart from the incarceration, you’ll actually be hard-pressed to find a link between all the inmates. But, speaking from experience, I find there is this one thing.

We can all get pretty fucking creative.

There are different reasons to get creative while doing time. Sometimes it’s to keep the hands busy. Other times, it’s mind that needs to be occupied.

You’ve got those who make a shiv from plastic spoons or the ends of their toothbrushes. Others make lighters from batteries, wires and electric tape. All sorts of DIY weapons made for survival.

Then you’ve got others who paint with saliva and the food coloring in Skittles, like an old cellmate of mine. You have those that find ways to tattoo themselves while in the slammer.

I have a shiv. Or at least, I had one while I was doing time.

You can think I made it as a weapon and thus I’m a violent person. Or you can think I made it because I’m just trying to survive. You can think whatever you want. All I’m saying is, I made it out alive.

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When the blonde boy shows up, our little party gets tense, and it seems I am the only one not in the loop, unsurprisingly. My brother stands up all of a sudden, blocking this boy’s path towards Sasha. On her part, Sasha is visibly upset, a frown on her face. Sal steps between the blonde boy and Ethan, who is practically flipping out.

“I think…” the boy starts hesitantly. “I think it was a mistake to come here.” He gives all of us an apologetic look, although the look I got is more confused than anything. As much as I have no idea who he is, he doesn’t know who I am either. “I’m sorry for disturbing—“

“What are you doing here, Jem?” Sasha asks, putting a hand on Allen’s arm. He tenses but then lowers his guard. Sasha gives him a little squeeze, probably to let him know things are alright, and it makes me wonder what the hell went down with this kid that has everyone so riled up.

“I just wanted to talk to you,” the boy answers quietly.

Sasha takes a quick look around at us, then agrees to speak to the blonde boy. She excuses herself.

At her departure, Ethan makes a strange, guttural sound. It sounds like a sound made by a trapped and wounded animal, fighting for his life. Sal touches his sleeve lightly, and the boy visibly recoils.

I stand up and I nudge Ethan’s shoulder with my knee. He jerks away but he looks up at me. I cock my head to one side. “Come on, kid,” I tell him. “Let’s take a walk.”

Ethan turns to his mother, as if looking for approval to go with me, a technical stranger. Sal looks at me as well, wondering what the hell I am doing. To be honest, I’m not sure either. I’m just afraid that if I don’t get Ethan away from this kid, he’ll surely get throttled. And if everyone is so upset with him around, this boy named Jem, then I probably won’t lift a pinky to stop him from getting creamed.