The Convict

A Story by kris

“What else I could do now(rhetoric question)? No reason for regret. I don’t even know where this bus’s gonna take me. I try to crane out the window through least possible vista. “No!” shouted the driver. Well, my freedom is restricted now. I’ve got listen to him. Donned in a white dress, paradox to the criminal community,. All those movies showing zebra dress and yellow clothes, no way it makes any sense now. I’d left the sandwich half eaten when the police nabbed me. Damn! When can I eat a fresh loaf of bread again! Will they feed well at least to fill a quarter of my stomach? My wrists are still with slashes, blood dried, as with wriggles before I’d to surrender at an unattended rendezvous. The bus rolling at a constant speed in a rough terrain, from the brief jerks my temper is at its peak. “Objection overruled”, calm down. After hours of bumps and shakes the bus stopped and we filed as the bus door opened. A gush of desert wind rushed through painting us with sand, I’ll get used to it. I was seated in the front. I immediately reached the door, obviously shackled up, took the first step. There it is the paradise for rest of my life. A huge cover of barren land fenced with magnificent walls (indeed in a good way), a huge gateway, and a long threshold where stood the inspector of what I can figure out, a middle aged ‘women’ in her uniform? The inspector? I had a few whistles and sniggers by then. She slowly took her time approaching me, as for the blaze of the sun I couldn’t see her face clearly, when she reached the proximity of my vision…Wait! Wait! She seems familiar. What the hell! She’s…”