Diary Of Prison Inmate Number 341869: Page 34

 Diary of Prison Inmate Number 341869: page 34

 

…guards running.  I was curled up on the hell that I could call a mattress, doing my best to give off the appearance that I was asleep.  The sound of jingling keys overrode the sound of Ricky attempting to hide our treasures and slip back onto his bed.  Next thing I heard was the savage cries of Ricky being beaten to the ground…for 20 minutes.  I could only help but wonder what would happen if authorities knew about this, when I realized that thee were the authorities. 

            Miraculously, the guards left, enjoying mutilating Ricky to the point where they had forgotten about our hidden treasures.  Our hidden treasures, which lay concealed beside the toilet seat, consisted of pieces of jagged metal from the jail fence that we had managed, after rigorous effort, to break off during our workout sessions.  Days we had spent sharpening them; days with a splinter of hope that we might finally be able to escape.

            We used our precious treasures to cut out a chunk of the barbed wire that wound the fence.  The guards would never notice the small section of it, big enough to allow one person to pass, missing. 

            That day they brought us to the outside for our workout sessions.  The guards no longer checked us for weapons.  What reason would they have to?  I carried with me my treasure, this piece of paper and a pen. 

There was no reason for us to attempt to be sly about our plan, as the guards were busy conversing among themselves.  I was the first to climb the fence.  As I made my way down the other side of our barrier, the rattling sounds crossed the guard’s thresholds and they began to sprint towards us, yelling and drawing their guns simultaneously. 

            Ricky reached over the fence, with the expectations that I would pull him over.  Instead I took my precious treasure and plunged it into his forearm and dragged it to his elbow.  Blood and muscle dripped to the ground, followed by his fall off the fence and his dire screams for help. 

            The guards were shooting at Ricky.  He was being pierced with hot metal rather than me.  It was the perfect distraction and for only a second I couldn’t help but think what a sick son of a b***h I really am.  Let him suffer, as long as I am free.

            I sprinted deep into the desert, until my lungs would no longer obey my command to run.  I managed to find a cave hollowed into some rocks where I took shelter.

 

And now I sit here, concluding my written story, on this paper stained with Ricky’s blood.  As free as I am, I can’t help but think as I reread this page, that maybe I belong in jail.  I’m a sick man.  But either way, I am free.  I am free.  I am free…