Post by Tony on Apr 6, 2007 20:01:27 GMT -5
Johnathon woke with a start, his dream quickly fading. The clock buzzed next to him flashing 6:30 a.m. He turned off the alarm and sat up in bed. He made a groan and rubbed at his face. His fingers flicked out the crusty stuff that had formed in the corner of his eyes overnight. Johnathon stood and swayed a little bit before gaining his balance. He slowly walked to his bathroom using his left hand to guide him along the wall. John entered the bathroom and his hand automatically flicked the switch for the light and he bit back an oath at the blinding glare. John walked over to the toilet with squinted eyes and relieved himself. He turned to the sink and quickly ran some hot water and soap on them before drying them on the towel next to the door.
Johnathon left his bathroom and his room and headed out to the hall that lead downstairs. Photographs lined the walls, mostly of landscapes and random people. One of his exes had been big on photography. Everywhere they had went she was snapping pictures with either her black and white camera or her color one. He had asked when they had just started dating why she had two cameras and not just one that could take both black and white and color pictures. Or why she insisted on using film and not going digital. He ended up getting a rant about cameras and photography that lasted three hours and ended with make-up sex because he apologized. John shook his head a bit sadly. He still wondered why they had broken up, just as he did with all of his exes. Some of the answers were more obvious than the others.
Taking each step one at a time and counting to make sure he didn’t stumble when he got to the bottom, John headed downstairs. He made a left and into the kitchen, switching from his left hand to his right to feel along the wall. As he started to walk along he was guessing where the middle of the kitchen would be with the fridge stuck in a little nook. Just when he was going to stop his hand caught the door handle. John pulled open the door and squinted a bit at the light. He grabbed the milk from behind a two liter bottle of Pepsi. Using the light from the fridge he opened the cabinet door to the left of the fridge where he stored his cereal and a bowl and spoon for this morning ritual. He grabbed the bowl and spoon, took a box of Honey Nut Cheerios, grabbed the milk, and headed to the living room. A soft glow from the streetlight outside filtered through his curtains and let him see the dim shapes of his couch and chairs and coffee table. He sat on the couch and put all of his things on the coffee table in front of the couch. John grabbed the remote from the right arm rest of the couch and turned on the TV. The light from the TV was blinding so Johnathon closed his eyes. The light still came through his eyelids. He turned his head away and opened them . . . In front of him were metals bars and concrete walls.
--
“Wake up you sons of bitches!” bellowed the gray uniformed guard outside Joe’s cell. His eyes snapped open instantly and he was instantly awake. You had to be in this place. Joe hopped out of his bunk and stretched a little. His bunk make, Leroy was still sleeping. Thank God, Joe though, Every morning with that bastard up is one of hell. Leroy was fat, loud, obnoxious, and had taken a special interest in Joe. He had tried sticking Joe a few times while Joe was here and each time Joe and knocked Leroy flat on his ass with a bloody nose. The man would just not learn. “I SAID GET UP, YOU GIRLS!” Joe heard the guard bellow. Joe stood in the designated foot marks at his cell door waiting for it to open for breakfast. Leroy still slept in his bed. If he wasn’t up by the time the doors opened Leroy won’t be looking so pretty when he was finally able to eat breakfast.
Joe peered out his bars and the other inmates. Tiny Tim was across the catwalk on the other side with his cellmate Frank. He could spot the left arm of Andy if he went as far left in his cell as he could and pressed his face to the bars. There were a few other guys he had made friends with in this hell hole, but those three were his best friends. During his first day they had protected him from becoming a sniveling little baby when one of the veteran inmates had wanted a new bitch. Joe owed them his life for helping him and he thanked God everyday his ass didn’t turn out like that goatse guy on the internet.
Echoes from opening cell doors came down the prison. Suddenly Leroy was to his right standing in the foot prints for the cell door to open. A guard walked by and looked in their cell. He pressed a button on his handheld and the door opened. Joe and Leroy turned left and headed to the cafeteria with all the other inmates. As they walked a long, Joe’s right hand on the handrail, he would nod to some of the guys he knew and ignore the ones he didn’t know or didn’t like. It didn’t take long to get to the cafeteria. Ten armed and gray-uniformed guards stood on a catwalk that circled the whole room keeping guard. They each had a rifle and scope. If they saw a deadly threat they were taught to shoot the one causing it, preferably not killing the inmate. Only a handful of times did Joe see the guards actually use their rifles. Just last month one shot came so close to Joe that he could feel it go past him. The bullet ended up hitting the guy in front of him, who apparently had shank under the table.
Joe grabbed a dulled and rounded tray from the stack and grabbed a plastic spork and a napkin. He moved along holding up his tray for what he wanted. This morning he got a few thin pancakes, watered down syrup, an apple with a bad brown spot, and some bad tasting frozen orange juice. If truth be told, what Joe had was probably the best choice to get in all the bunch. The Warden of the prison didn’t think prisoners should be fed like guests and made a point to not feed them like guests. The Warden gave them just the bare minimum when it came to quality of food to not get in trouble. Every prisoner, though, was waiting for something that would slip below the minimum so they could report him and get a new Warden. Hopefully the new one would be better than this one.
Joe poured his syrup on his pancakes and started to chow down. The day felt like it was going to be a good one. Perhaps there won’t be any death threats, booing, beatings, or anything. While Joe was thinking about this a large muscular man stood up from the table holding his tray to go. Instead of turning and leaving his turned around to Joe and knocked him in the head. A second late a bullet burst through the man’s calf bringing him to the floor. Joe lay unconscious on the floor. Two guys from the infirmary came in with a stretcher and took Joe away. When he woke up he was looking up at the branches of trees with sunlight filtering through. And his name was not Joe, it was Jack. And he wasn’t in prison; he was living the life by living off the land.
--
Jack rolled over onto his stomach and looked around. He had rested beneath this wonderfully tall tree after his hike up the small mountain and it was just what he needed before he headed back home. Jack pulled his sack around to him and dug around for some food and brought out some dried mango and banana. Chewing on the dried fruit he looked around and gazed at the plants. There was a startling array of colors the plant life offered, deep dark reds to vibrant yellows and mellow blues. For probably the thousandth time Jack thanked himself for moving here and away from all his problems. Here, the only problems you faced were where you slept at night.
Groaning a bit from soreness Jack stood up and headed for the worn path that lead up higher to the mountain. The locals had told of a stone structure up at the mountain that they thought was sacred and held mystical powers. The inner archaeologist inside Jack couldn’t wait to go and check it out. The locals, however, wouldn’t allow him to go up until he proved he could be a member of their society. For the past two hears Jack had lived in the Amazon with the locals and took part in their customs and learned their language. They were a second family to him and he loved them very much. Last week the elder had told him he was allowed to go up to the mountain and go and see the ruin. Jack had packed enough food for the trip and set off.
Just up ahead the path made a sharp ninety degree angle, the mark that the ruin was close, and went off into the forest. Jack continued following the path and after topping small rise he stopped and stared. The ruin was not a ruin, but a wonderfully intact square structure made of grey-blue granite. There was a small spire on top capped with a dark blue stone that Jack did not know the name of. The front of the structure was carved with elaborate scenes of men and this ruin. Jack would spend more time looking at them later.
What caught Jack’s eyes was a small door nestled within the carvings. He put his hand out in front and pushed the door. It swung smoothly in and revealed a rectangle of the deepest black. Jack took a small Maglite from his pack and twisted it on. He shone the light inside, but all it revealed was a stair case leading down. Taking a look around outside one last time, Jack headed in. The stones that made the steps were of the same grey-blue as the outside. Some of them were wet from tiny leaks within the walls, but most of them were dry and offered a good footing.
After the first twenty or so steps Jack had decided to start counting how many there really were. After a hundred he wanted to give up, but the archaeologist told him not to and he continued on. When his light finally showed the bottom Jack was at four hundred and seventy-three stairs. Seven more would bring him to the bottom. Shining his light down the new corridor a stone wall shone at the end. Jack walked towards the end and saw that it was another door. Pushing on it caused it to move a little bit, but with resistance. Sticking the flashlight in his mouth he put both his hands on and pushed with all his might. The door opened just enough for him to squeeze through, which he did. Turning around Jack stopped again. He was struck dumb with what he saw.
Johnathon left his bathroom and his room and headed out to the hall that lead downstairs. Photographs lined the walls, mostly of landscapes and random people. One of his exes had been big on photography. Everywhere they had went she was snapping pictures with either her black and white camera or her color one. He had asked when they had just started dating why she had two cameras and not just one that could take both black and white and color pictures. Or why she insisted on using film and not going digital. He ended up getting a rant about cameras and photography that lasted three hours and ended with make-up sex because he apologized. John shook his head a bit sadly. He still wondered why they had broken up, just as he did with all of his exes. Some of the answers were more obvious than the others.
Taking each step one at a time and counting to make sure he didn’t stumble when he got to the bottom, John headed downstairs. He made a left and into the kitchen, switching from his left hand to his right to feel along the wall. As he started to walk along he was guessing where the middle of the kitchen would be with the fridge stuck in a little nook. Just when he was going to stop his hand caught the door handle. John pulled open the door and squinted a bit at the light. He grabbed the milk from behind a two liter bottle of Pepsi. Using the light from the fridge he opened the cabinet door to the left of the fridge where he stored his cereal and a bowl and spoon for this morning ritual. He grabbed the bowl and spoon, took a box of Honey Nut Cheerios, grabbed the milk, and headed to the living room. A soft glow from the streetlight outside filtered through his curtains and let him see the dim shapes of his couch and chairs and coffee table. He sat on the couch and put all of his things on the coffee table in front of the couch. John grabbed the remote from the right arm rest of the couch and turned on the TV. The light from the TV was blinding so Johnathon closed his eyes. The light still came through his eyelids. He turned his head away and opened them . . . In front of him were metals bars and concrete walls.
--
“Wake up you sons of bitches!” bellowed the gray uniformed guard outside Joe’s cell. His eyes snapped open instantly and he was instantly awake. You had to be in this place. Joe hopped out of his bunk and stretched a little. His bunk make, Leroy was still sleeping. Thank God, Joe though, Every morning with that bastard up is one of hell. Leroy was fat, loud, obnoxious, and had taken a special interest in Joe. He had tried sticking Joe a few times while Joe was here and each time Joe and knocked Leroy flat on his ass with a bloody nose. The man would just not learn. “I SAID GET UP, YOU GIRLS!” Joe heard the guard bellow. Joe stood in the designated foot marks at his cell door waiting for it to open for breakfast. Leroy still slept in his bed. If he wasn’t up by the time the doors opened Leroy won’t be looking so pretty when he was finally able to eat breakfast.
Joe peered out his bars and the other inmates. Tiny Tim was across the catwalk on the other side with his cellmate Frank. He could spot the left arm of Andy if he went as far left in his cell as he could and pressed his face to the bars. There were a few other guys he had made friends with in this hell hole, but those three were his best friends. During his first day they had protected him from becoming a sniveling little baby when one of the veteran inmates had wanted a new bitch. Joe owed them his life for helping him and he thanked God everyday his ass didn’t turn out like that goatse guy on the internet.
Echoes from opening cell doors came down the prison. Suddenly Leroy was to his right standing in the foot prints for the cell door to open. A guard walked by and looked in their cell. He pressed a button on his handheld and the door opened. Joe and Leroy turned left and headed to the cafeteria with all the other inmates. As they walked a long, Joe’s right hand on the handrail, he would nod to some of the guys he knew and ignore the ones he didn’t know or didn’t like. It didn’t take long to get to the cafeteria. Ten armed and gray-uniformed guards stood on a catwalk that circled the whole room keeping guard. They each had a rifle and scope. If they saw a deadly threat they were taught to shoot the one causing it, preferably not killing the inmate. Only a handful of times did Joe see the guards actually use their rifles. Just last month one shot came so close to Joe that he could feel it go past him. The bullet ended up hitting the guy in front of him, who apparently had shank under the table.
Joe grabbed a dulled and rounded tray from the stack and grabbed a plastic spork and a napkin. He moved along holding up his tray for what he wanted. This morning he got a few thin pancakes, watered down syrup, an apple with a bad brown spot, and some bad tasting frozen orange juice. If truth be told, what Joe had was probably the best choice to get in all the bunch. The Warden of the prison didn’t think prisoners should be fed like guests and made a point to not feed them like guests. The Warden gave them just the bare minimum when it came to quality of food to not get in trouble. Every prisoner, though, was waiting for something that would slip below the minimum so they could report him and get a new Warden. Hopefully the new one would be better than this one.
Joe poured his syrup on his pancakes and started to chow down. The day felt like it was going to be a good one. Perhaps there won’t be any death threats, booing, beatings, or anything. While Joe was thinking about this a large muscular man stood up from the table holding his tray to go. Instead of turning and leaving his turned around to Joe and knocked him in the head. A second late a bullet burst through the man’s calf bringing him to the floor. Joe lay unconscious on the floor. Two guys from the infirmary came in with a stretcher and took Joe away. When he woke up he was looking up at the branches of trees with sunlight filtering through. And his name was not Joe, it was Jack. And he wasn’t in prison; he was living the life by living off the land.
--
Jack rolled over onto his stomach and looked around. He had rested beneath this wonderfully tall tree after his hike up the small mountain and it was just what he needed before he headed back home. Jack pulled his sack around to him and dug around for some food and brought out some dried mango and banana. Chewing on the dried fruit he looked around and gazed at the plants. There was a startling array of colors the plant life offered, deep dark reds to vibrant yellows and mellow blues. For probably the thousandth time Jack thanked himself for moving here and away from all his problems. Here, the only problems you faced were where you slept at night.
Groaning a bit from soreness Jack stood up and headed for the worn path that lead up higher to the mountain. The locals had told of a stone structure up at the mountain that they thought was sacred and held mystical powers. The inner archaeologist inside Jack couldn’t wait to go and check it out. The locals, however, wouldn’t allow him to go up until he proved he could be a member of their society. For the past two hears Jack had lived in the Amazon with the locals and took part in their customs and learned their language. They were a second family to him and he loved them very much. Last week the elder had told him he was allowed to go up to the mountain and go and see the ruin. Jack had packed enough food for the trip and set off.
Just up ahead the path made a sharp ninety degree angle, the mark that the ruin was close, and went off into the forest. Jack continued following the path and after topping small rise he stopped and stared. The ruin was not a ruin, but a wonderfully intact square structure made of grey-blue granite. There was a small spire on top capped with a dark blue stone that Jack did not know the name of. The front of the structure was carved with elaborate scenes of men and this ruin. Jack would spend more time looking at them later.
What caught Jack’s eyes was a small door nestled within the carvings. He put his hand out in front and pushed the door. It swung smoothly in and revealed a rectangle of the deepest black. Jack took a small Maglite from his pack and twisted it on. He shone the light inside, but all it revealed was a stair case leading down. Taking a look around outside one last time, Jack headed in. The stones that made the steps were of the same grey-blue as the outside. Some of them were wet from tiny leaks within the walls, but most of them were dry and offered a good footing.
After the first twenty or so steps Jack had decided to start counting how many there really were. After a hundred he wanted to give up, but the archaeologist told him not to and he continued on. When his light finally showed the bottom Jack was at four hundred and seventy-three stairs. Seven more would bring him to the bottom. Shining his light down the new corridor a stone wall shone at the end. Jack walked towards the end and saw that it was another door. Pushing on it caused it to move a little bit, but with resistance. Sticking the flashlight in his mouth he put both his hands on and pushed with all his might. The door opened just enough for him to squeeze through, which he did. Turning around Jack stopped again. He was struck dumb with what he saw.