Dexter.
The iron dome.
It was a hazy couple of days, those days after my arrest. I was either high or in a deep slumber eighty percent of the time, as I was being transferred from one holding facility to another.
Four days after my arrest and I was finally being transferred to the iron dome. I was in a high security van and was half conscious once more due to the large doses of tranquilizers I had been given over and over again to stop me from trying to escape. Funny thing is that I wouldn't have actually tried to escape. In truth, I was tired of running up and down, hiding from the police and stuff. It was a really one-sided story and that's why I was glad of the court's judgement. It's not as though I didn't deserve it.
After what seemed like ten days of drug induced slumber (though in truth it was about six days), I finally arrived at the iron dome. I can't say that I saw the front gate, but it was one of those things you just knew apart from that I was dragged out of the car and a scruffy voice said, "Welcome to the iron dome, you scum of the streets." These were the first words I'd heard for about three days. The journey to the iron dome was a very silent one for me.
My introduction to the top class prison started with a full strip down and hose wash, followed by a trip to the clothing department where I was measured. Ironically that last scene was quite funny, because though I was measured, I was still given a bed sheet, a blanket, a sweater, a very big pair of trousers and a loose shirt. A very loose shirt. Thankfully it came with a pack of needles and four thread spools, though that didn't stop me from wondering why I was measured in the first case, and I just couldn't help but laugh.
The needle and thread spools were a nice addition. "At least," I thought to myself, " I can work on the clothes later if I'm not dead yet."
Next on my activity list was a visit to the Head Warden's office and when I arrived, he had a broad smile on his face. I had one on too because I felt a sense of pride for my preceeding reputation. The warden spent a good forty or so minutes of my time just telling me I was a good for nothing curse to humanity. It felt awesome though to know that I had such a huge fanbase, like who would have know I'd have so many fans in prison?
Leaving the office for my cell, I was given a standing ovation in the cafeteria from the moment I placed a foot inside the room. It was expected. I was a master at what I did back then, you know. As I was busy basking in my glory I hit something large, someone large and firm. I took a step back and looked in front of me. The guard who walked before me had stepped to the side and in his place was a huge hunk of muscle mass, my protégé. The last person I'd ever want to see was Jamaal. That dark and highly built mass of Jamaican muscle was the last partner I ever worked with and I'm sure you could probably deduce or guess that we didn't part on friendly terms. I had double crossed him at some point in the past and it was evident he still had some grievances to iron out.
It happened in a flash. One second I had a smirk plastered on my face as Jamaal looked me over with a sneer. The next, I was surrounded by broken wooden planks from a table I had landed on after Jamaal took me off guard and flung me towards the nearest wall hard surfaces he could find.
Now just to be clear, I wasn't a wimp, one of the defining factors of being the king of the streets. There are a lot of reasons why I was called the king of the streets. One of them was because I had never lost a fight, and I wasn't planning on losing one now that I had left those blood stained streets, especially not to the scavenger I trained to be a tough guy.
I stood up from the pile of rubble and dusted myself off, and my former smirk came creeping back. Jamaal lunched himself at me and I sidestepped before he could latch on to me. He landed on the ground near my feet and before he could get himself up again, I grabbed his short dread locks and lifted his head up before smashing it back down on the floor over and over again, right until he passed out from the pain.
"That'll teach you not to mess with your elders sonny boy," I said and chuckled at my choice of words.
The guards called for medical help as they led me to my cell, and after about five minutes of stairs and corridors, we finally got to our destination and I was pushed into the cell.
The cell had bunk beds. The top one had a bedsheet on so I assumed it was in use, so I made the bottom bed, placed the blanket on it and surveyed the rest of the room. It was no different from a regular cell, though there were some few adjustments. It had a urinal at the opposite end. "That's a plus," I thought to myself as I scurried over to relieve myself.
After taking in my surroundings, I slumped on my bed and decided to take a nap. "This will be my very last nap," I told myself as I recalled the words of the judge. I was given a death penalty and I would be dying the next day, a week after my arrest.
They really wanted me gone as soon as possible. I didn't blame them though. I would have wanted me out of this world as soon as possible too, it's what I deserved. Those thoughts made me feel a bit light headed, but just before I finally drifted off to the dream world, I remembered my lawyers last words to me.
"I'll try and get an appeal for a life sentence instead, but it would require a miracle," he had said, and as I mused over it I couldn't help but say, "A miracle indeed," to myself as I closed my eyes to sleep- only to be brought back to my full alertness by a voice talking.
