When the next morning had rolled around, I felt calm and at peace with myself for some reason. During the night, the beast had surfaced as per usual and left his marks on my arms and face, but today I couldn't bring myself to curse and cringe at the pain. I lay against my hardened rusty frame and my thoughts drifted off to Cammie. I presumed that she would be arriving in a few more minutes if she decided to come today. And it was most likely that she would be coming considering her history of consistency and punctuality.
She really was a peculiar girl. I wondered where on Earth she lived. Did her parents approve of her crazy appearance? The pink hair? And why was she so skinny? I wanted to know badly. I would sometimes get flashes of those protruding collar bones on Cammie's neck. I even bet that if she bent over you would be able to clearly count each vertebrate on her spine. The thought gave me a slight shiver and my mind wandered off to the song she sang. The memory of the smashed iPod came up and I grimaced, remember the immense pain I felt in my heart when I heard the lyrics of that haunting song. It made me remember the days when I was still with her and it forced me to relive the horrible night when I lost her forever. I suppose the situation is quite melodramatic. I mean, I can't even force myself to think of her name, much less say it aloud. But I know deep down that there is a reason I'll never say her name and that reason is the cause for why I must spend the rest of my worthless days in this shithole.
A sudden clanging interrupted my thoughts which were about to take on a much darker tone. Shouts were heard from outside my cells, most likely from the cafeteria. I heard the pounding footsteps of the guards rushing past my cell and down the stairs to control the chaos. I remained lying down awaiting the familiar whack of the stick and the clicking of all the locks. But the sounds never came. The shouts and screams started becoming more and more animalistic. I heard the powerful voice of the head guard calling for back up, but all of a sudden his words were cut off with a deep and guttural holler. I heard a sputtering sound and then the roar of the inmates overpowered any other gasps that could have come out of the man's voice. I sat up more alert now. The idiots were actually serious about trying to escape. I groaned internally and retreated to a corner of my cell. I curled up into a ball and covered up my ears. From years of experience, I knew exactly what was going to happen to the inmates. It wasn't long before a team of armed guards barricaded through the doors. I squeezed my eyes shut trying to block out their screams of agony and pain as the guards opened fire. Understand the prison rules, guards shouldn't open fire upon inmates unless completely necessary, but the prison warden had ways of manipulating the data. It would be very easy to say that 20 or so inmates conveniently died from a fatal disease that originated from self-harm or some bullshit like that.
"HEY! DOPEY DAN! SAVE ME MAN!" A cackling voice resonated from the doorway of my cell.
I opened my eyes to see an inmate at my doorway gasping for air. A gaping bullet wound was clearly visible on his right shoulder and his face looked scarily messed up. His left eye was sliced and the scars must have been from past scuffles. He was barely able to hold himself up, but he crawled over my cell and stuck his arms through the bars. I curled up into a tighter ball and prayed that he would go away.
"COME ON MAN! SAVE ME!"
The inmate continued to scream and he thrashed his arms wildly, trying to grab at me. But I was too far. The fella grabbed handfuls of air, shoving his body as hard as possible against the bars. It was as if he thought that by getting through the bars and being stuck with me would somehow protect him from the guards that would be on his tail in no time. I wasn't mistaken as a guard emerged in the doorway and spotted the blood-stained orange jumpsuit immediately. The inmate started screaming even louder if it was even physically possible. His hands curled around my bars and held on tightly. The guard had to literally pry his nails off of the bars and sent the guy hurling up his maggoty breakfast with a few kicks to the stomach. I turned my head the other way. I didn't want to watch.
YOU ARE READING
Bars and White
Romance"Some days were good. Some were bad. But most being bad of course." Life in the eyes of 25 year old pessimist Daniel Venator is, simply put: pointless. After being in jail for many years with no one but himself, the last thing he expects to see i...
