Friday, August 27, 2010

Chapter 2

I know which guards are not tentative, I know which inmates will start a fight for cigarettes, and I know when my friend will open the door I need to walk through.  A psychologist was scheduled to interview me in my prison cell, and I will enjoy traveling to his and making it beautiful.  In four days I will cradle freedoms.  I’m sure you’ve seen Silence of the Lambs on your quaint television screen or projected onto a wall at a theatre, and you surely remember Anthony Hopkins’ escape and I plan on executing a similar method of escape. My favorite guard is Sean, and he wears large designer tinted sunglasses and prefers to keep his beard trimmed. My chin looks like his, and I will grow a beard like his. He walks my large corridor often, informing me about the college basketball league that I pretend to care about. He is new here, naive in his belief that those who commit heinous crimes can, on occasion be sweethearts. He is the only guard who sees me regularly, and because of the prison pay cuts all guards have been more apathetic about identity regulation. I’ve paid an actual acquaintance that helps engineer the simple cots to leave a screw in my bed loose enough for me to wrestle it out of its bearings.  I’m not certain how he knows that particular cot will be mine, but I didn’t ask for any verification, for it would either happen or I would find a different means of escape. I was however fortunate enough that my cot-building friend was able to make word on his promise and I repaid him with two cigarettes. I told him that I would kill him if I found out he had been wasting his life when he got out of prison.  In four nights Sean would charge into my confines because I will be coughing (the fires have been kind enough to bless me with an acute lung infection from asbestos, I can cough on queue).  Sean’s neck will be near my head, and I will cut his throat open with the sharpened screw from the cot. I will quickly trade clothes with him, and yell that a cellmate has tried to commit suicide as a fountain of blood ruins my new attire.  The darkness in this rare moment will be an advantage; his guard companions will tackle him as he screams and beat him to the point where he won’t resist. I will thank the guards with a tip of Sean’s sunglasses, and leave an hour later in his car, headed towards anywhere that wasn’t cellblock 14. 

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