Jay 1

Jay 1
I didn’t f*****g do it. I swear. I was just trying to get a pack of cigarettes and a fifth, and this a*****e came in with a 32mm pistol and put it to my head. Man, all I can remember was putting my hands up, seeing the cashier with wide eyes contemplating on grabbing whatever form of protection he had back there or making a run for it letting my black a*s die. F**k that white m**********r.
The dude got away. What he stole didn’t matter. That white b***h wanted someone to get caught, allowing his insurance company to replace what he claimed got stolen. He called the guard, they took me away, and here I am now, stuck in a ghetto a*s white bus, hands in cable ties, and staring at this huge a*s hole in the seat in front of me like it is going to whisper the secrets on how to survive my new life.
My life started in a lively city with decently care of lawns and blooming flowers and weeds, has turned into sand, death, little water, and heat that makes my asthma grab my lungs and squeeze out all the fresh air that is left in them.
Doesn’t matter. I look at that hole again, trying to make out the faded writing that circles it. I think I can make out a few curse words here and there, maybe even the beginning of someones name, but that’s about it. Focusing on this hole takes my attention off the tightness of the cable ties, and lowers some of my anxiety.
Three guards are assigned to my relocation. They talk to each other like this is just another day, spitting out peanut shells in my direction, and laughing about the women they fucked the other night. What they don’t realize is they are the last to pull the knot to my noose, setting me free in a jail that takes away my identity and gives me a new life with a shorter life expectancy.
I feel the bus slowing, hitting bumps that make my back hurt and the cable ties to dig further into my flesh. The brakes make a high pitched screeching noise, indicating we are about to stop at my final resting place.
My heart starts to race, and I feel the blood drain from my face, fingertips, and toes. I go cold in a climate that is meant to dry your sweat before it even forms. S**t. F**k. F*****g s**t!
Just keep your cool, Jay. Don’t react. Keep calm. Just keep focusing on that hole.
The guards attention go from each other to silence. I hear the shift of their seat as they get up, stretch, fix their belt that is holding their gun, and then the squeaking of their boots as they walk up a few seats to where I sit.
Take deep breaths, Jay. Keep your cool. 

Author's Note

This is a rough draft. Work in progress.