“I wanna go home…take off this uniform and leave the
show…but I’m waiting in this cell because I have to know…have I been guilty all
this time?”
Scott George’s trembling rendition of “Stop” by Pink Floyd
was met with a sarcastic golf clap from the shadows of his jail cell. A
familiar voice said, “Good one, buddy. You really do have the prettiest little
voice. The last time I heard singing that good, you were bawling like a big
baby over your daddy’s grave.” With shadows now covering only half of his face
like a neo-noir villain, Alan Young’s hideously transformed visage sent chills
up Scott’s spine. Tattoos on his arms, a short Mohawk, and scars on his face
marked Alan’s metamorphosis from childhood brat to demonic tormentor.
Unwilling to let this bruiser shake him any further, Scott
descended into bathos by angrily joking, “What the hell were YOU doing at a
graveyard anyways? I was grieving my dead father. What about you? You can’t get
laid any other way, so you’re going to give necrophilia a try?”
“Oh, you’re hilarious, Scott. You’re just fucking marvelous.
It’s especially ironic considering how you got yourself in this jail cell to
begin with. Though I do admit, you couldn’t have found a better piece of ass
than Adrienne fucking Simpson, I’ll tell you that right now.”
Scott bolted out of his bunk bed and shouted, “Don’t you
ever talk that way about her again, you fat piece of shit!”
“Or what? You’re going to strangle me and get me kicked out
of prison like you did on that bus ride? Come on, dude, you’ve got way too much
to lose and you know it. You throw one punch at me and it’s off to the hole for
you. Me? I don’t give a fuck where I go from here. The only thing I’ve got left
to lose is my own sanity and even that’s questionable.”
Folding his arms and giving his cellmate the gorgon death
stare, Scott asked, “What do you want from me, Alan? You want to keep making my
life a living hell? What for? Why me? Why not somebody else? Answer me, damn
it!”
Alan stood up quickly and barked, “You want to know why?!
I’ll tell you why. I don’t do it because of your skinny ass body. I don’t do it
because I can. I don’t even want your survivor’s benefits from your dear old
daddy kicking the bucket. The reason I gave you hell all those years is because
of who you are.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t, because you’re too blind to see it.
Your massive ego won’t let you. Well, I’m here to tell you that you’re a phony.
You like to rage against the machine and all that bullshit. Guess what? I’ve
always wanted to rage against the machine too. Growing up with Aloysius tends
to do that to a man. All this talk about communities and worms and puppets and
shit…if I ever do get thrown in the hole, that’s probably what I’m going to
think about the most.”
Scott’s expression softened and his arms went limp at this
revelation. But he would still hold his ground against the much larger and much
more aggressive cellmate.
Alan wagged his finger at Scott and ranted, “Yeah, that’s
right. The old Freudian excuse. I can play that card until the end of time. I
abuse other people because I too was a victim of disgusting shit. That would be
the convenient answer. But that’s not it. Aloysius is just one piece of the
puzzle. It’s the whole world that fucks with my mind the most. And you, you’re
the biggest hypocrite of them all. You claim to be about individuality and
personal freedom, yet here you are sucking up to the teachers so that you can
get the best grades. Don’t you see, Scott? You’re doing what they’re telling
you to do. They’ve got you by the balls, buddy! Me? I don’t want a pointless
career. I want to watch the world burn. Being in jail waiting for my sentence
gave me time to think about it and that’s what I want most out of life.”
Scott half-grinned and shook his head before saying, “So
that’s it, huh? Because life didn’t turn out the way you wanted, you want to
watch the system around you collapse. Well, guess what, lard ass! My life
wasn’t exactly a bed of roses either! I too have nightmares that keep me from
getting the sleep I deserve! I haven’t eaten a decent meal in god knows how
long! And yes, I’m in jail because the world wants me to be here! But I don’t
want to watch the world burn! You know why? Because without a world to live in,
there’d be no place for people like Adrienne to grow up. I know not everybody
in the world is a Mr. Simpson clone. I don’t paint everybody with the same
brush like you do. There are good people in this world and they’re the people
I’m fighting for! I don’t care how long I have to stay in this cell, because I
won’t let jail break me!”
Alan blitzed towards Scott, grabbed his shirt, and slammed
him against the wall. “Bullshit!” the bully shouted. “You’re not going to beat
the system that easily! Everybody who comes through here turns into the ugliest
fucking monster imaginable! You’re no different from the rest of the losers in
this jail! You’re going to break one way or another and if I have to be the one
who breaks you, goddamn it, I will!”
“Go for it, Alan! Make a move! You’ll be taking those words
to solitary confinement! It’s just like you said to me a few minutes ago! That
shit works both ways, my friend! You want to take a swing at me?! Go ahead!”
Alan smiled sadistically and bore his yellow demonic fangs
while clutching Scott’s shirt tighter than before. “If that’s what you want,
then ask and ye shall receive!” Alan dropped his victim with a right hook to
the gut, causing him to cough and wheeze violently. Scott even spit up a few
droplets of blood. Alan grabbed his hair and said, “You see that? That’s what
happens when you don’t eat your meat, let alone your pudding. Yeah, I can quote
Pink Floyd too, buddy. Look around you: nobody’s coming to save you because
nobody cares. I bet watching the world burn sounds pretty fucking good right now,
doesn’t it?”
The next attack in Alan’s arsenal was a knee to the chest,
bouncing Scott against the metal bunk bed and causing even more heavy,
blood-laced breathing. “Pathetic. That’s all you are, Scott.” Alan turned
around and sat down on his bed while watching his victim collected what was
left of himself.
Scott sat against his bunk and heaved some more, his lungs
and heart working overtime to make sure he didn’t drop dead right then and
there. And then he mustered up enough oxygen to get these words out in a clear
voice: “Is that all you got?”
Alan’s hamburger face morphed into monstrous rage when he
stood back up and shouted, “No, it’s not all I got, you dumb shit!” He pulled a
shank from under his pillow and glared down at his prey with venom and fire in
his bulging eyes. “You just don’t know when to break, do you? That’s alright.
You don’t ever have to worry about breaking ever again. As your daddy will tell
you…dead men tell no tales!”
The bully jerked Scott up by his neck and held the blade to his
throat, drawing a tiny droplet of sweet red juice. “You see that, Scotty boy?
That’s what jail is really like. You haven’t been here that long and you’re
already knocking on hell’s gates. Say hello to your dear old daddy for me!”
Scott’s rage glowed a brighter shade of red than the goop
pouring out of his mouth, nose, and throat. A night in solitary confinement
would have been a welcome time to rest his bones if it meant he could live
another day. He forgot all about the possibility of losing his sanity in a dark
room. Did he really have it to begin with?
Scott swung his leg backwards and made Alan a permanent cast
member of the Nutcracker Suite, causing him to drop the blade and leaving him
open for a sharp elbow to the nose. Alan’s already demonic face looked like it
went through a wood chipper after that blood-curdling blow. Both combatants lay
limp on the floor floating in and out of consciousness while the sounds of
boots pounding the cement floor flooded their ears.
Scott could hear the cacophony of swear words and
authoritative threats as both he and Alan were being dragged out of their cell,
though in different directions. He could distinctly hear one of the guards
threaten, “You’re in a lot of trouble, little boy!” Although, he couldn’t
discern who it was being said to. Either way, Scott knew he was up shit creek
without a paddle, judging from how roughly he was being dragged away from the
scene of the fight.
Was it this easy to break in prison? Was there anybody out
there truly strong enough to withstand such a torturous grind? Scott couldn’t
think of one person that fit the bill. Even superheroes would go crazy in this
shitty place if they didn’t get brutally murdered. Getting out on a sweetheart
deal didn’t mean shit either. The prisoners were dead inside by the time they
tasted freedom, thus ensuring this place’s status as a graveyard rather than a
real housing facility. At least when death or insanity washed over Scott, he
would be reunited with his father, which wasn’t much of a silver lining
considering he would also lose Adrienne forever. Scott took a temporary
vacation from the ultra madness when his vision faded to black.
