I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THIS. ALL RIGHTS GO TO chess_boxing ON LIVE JOURNAL. I AM SIMPLY SHARING THIS AMAZING STORY. NONE OF THIS REALLY HAPPENED. IT IS SIMPLY A FANFICTION
Warning: Language
I was woken as the bus hit a bump in the road, throwing my head sideways against the Wand I'd been leaning on.
This was annoying. God knows it had taken long enough to drift off in the first place, and the light streaming through the slits in the metal panelling indicated that I hadn't been asleep long at all. The bus had no windows. Well, it had a windscreen, I expect, but not much else. Convicts on their way to a life sentence don't get luxuries such as windows. There were, as I mentioned, a few tiny gaps - mere millimetres wide - and through those I could just about glimpse the outside world. Earlier, I'd strained my eyes and (just about, if I squinted) I could see trees and fields, all bathed in the evening sunlight, rushing backwards past the road, all too fast to focus on for any length of time. I guessed they'd be my last proper look at free, wild nature; trees that grew wherever their seeds landed, rivers that ran wherever their paths felt like running. I stopped bothering fairly quickly. I was annoying myself with my ridiculously dramatic position - forlornly draped across my seat, head tilted back, neck exposed, mournful grey eyes deperately seeking out a world to which I no longer belonged. My fingertips were pressed to the bus wall, as though I longed to reach out and touch the freedom. Annoying. I always was a bit dramatic. One of those closet dramatics, though, who stayed quiet and composed until a moment presented itself, and then BAM, I'm wearing spandex.
I'm probably never going to wear elasthan, spandex again. That's kind of a shame.
I buried my face in my hands, tired of noticing the guard's glances in my direction. There had been no emotional goodbyes with my family. The whole thing had been almost cold. I find it hard to imagine them believing what the courts sagte I'd done, but something in their eyes was missing when they told me how they'd miss me, and how they promised they'd write. I was trying not to think about it. I was trying not to think about the whole, god damned mess. It hurt too much. It hurt far too much. I was scared, too. Of course I was scared. I know what happens to guys like me in prison. I was hoping it wasn't as bad as all that, like when Du go to school and everyone insists that your head'll be shoved down a toilet during your first lunch break. No. It'd be fine. It had to be fine. I had to stay sane.
Oh, god, it's not going to be fine, is it.
I needed to sleep. I needed my mind shut off; my thoughts silenced. I channeled the waves of hopelessness that crashed through my head into a gloomy, dark mass of feeling that crushed my energy. It was dark down here, and quiet, and before long, I was drifting off once more.
----
I'd been hauled to my feet before my eyes had even fully opened. I didn't even have time for my mind to blearily adjust to consciousness. I snapped straight awake. The bus was still. It was dark outside. I must be here.
Stepping down from the bus and into a courtyard, I took in my new surroundings. It was hard to judge the time - I'd have guessed late night, but I could see a large group of men in prisoner's overalls across in a seperate yard. A chain link fence seperated us. A lot were watching me, actually. So that part was true; the new arrival is a Quelle Of Interest. I didn't really feel comfortable about that, actually. oder about any of this. I want to be alone. I'd be happy with any of this shit as long as I were alone.
I was led Von a prison official towards a small building which was set aside from the main compound. I suspected this would be where the official people and the cleaners and the guards worked and lived and did whatever the hell those people do when they're not cleaning oder guarding oder officering. Part of me began to wonder if they'd cut my hair off. It should've been be the least of my worries, but frankly, at this point, I didn't care. They could not cut my hair. If they cut my hair, I'd just curl up and die. I WAS my hair. I would take every prison dusche buttfuck in the world if they could just spare my hair.
As it turned out then no, they had no interest in cutting my hair whatsoever. They didn't really have any interest in me, full stop. I was an item in a spreadsheet; a row in a database. A number on a set of overalls. And I suppose that is what I would be for the rest of my days. That hurt. I stripped bare in front of the guards in the holding room and pulled on my uniform. A schlagen, punsch in the gut for my dignity; that hurt too. I must have been signing forms and Lesen over prison rules and regulations for over and Stunde before I was led away to the Cell 731 that was now my home. On the way, as I followed an irritatingly cheerful guard through mazes of metal and chainlink and gauze and bars, he informed me that I had been assigned a cell mate. 'S'not your day, is it, sunshine? You've been put in with the nutter! Aah, he's not all that bad. Chin up. Just sleep with your back to the wall, you'll be fine. In Du go, now!'
Fuck you. Fuck your fucking fucker face, Du cheery wanky fuck... shitting dick. I hope your smiley fucking face melts off. Twat.
And then I was alone. In the cell. With the nutter.
Warning: Language
I was woken as the bus hit a bump in the road, throwing my head sideways against the Wand I'd been leaning on.
This was annoying. God knows it had taken long enough to drift off in the first place, and the light streaming through the slits in the metal panelling indicated that I hadn't been asleep long at all. The bus had no windows. Well, it had a windscreen, I expect, but not much else. Convicts on their way to a life sentence don't get luxuries such as windows. There were, as I mentioned, a few tiny gaps - mere millimetres wide - and through those I could just about glimpse the outside world. Earlier, I'd strained my eyes and (just about, if I squinted) I could see trees and fields, all bathed in the evening sunlight, rushing backwards past the road, all too fast to focus on for any length of time. I guessed they'd be my last proper look at free, wild nature; trees that grew wherever their seeds landed, rivers that ran wherever their paths felt like running. I stopped bothering fairly quickly. I was annoying myself with my ridiculously dramatic position - forlornly draped across my seat, head tilted back, neck exposed, mournful grey eyes deperately seeking out a world to which I no longer belonged. My fingertips were pressed to the bus wall, as though I longed to reach out and touch the freedom. Annoying. I always was a bit dramatic. One of those closet dramatics, though, who stayed quiet and composed until a moment presented itself, and then BAM, I'm wearing spandex.
I'm probably never going to wear elasthan, spandex again. That's kind of a shame.
I buried my face in my hands, tired of noticing the guard's glances in my direction. There had been no emotional goodbyes with my family. The whole thing had been almost cold. I find it hard to imagine them believing what the courts sagte I'd done, but something in their eyes was missing when they told me how they'd miss me, and how they promised they'd write. I was trying not to think about it. I was trying not to think about the whole, god damned mess. It hurt too much. It hurt far too much. I was scared, too. Of course I was scared. I know what happens to guys like me in prison. I was hoping it wasn't as bad as all that, like when Du go to school and everyone insists that your head'll be shoved down a toilet during your first lunch break. No. It'd be fine. It had to be fine. I had to stay sane.
Oh, god, it's not going to be fine, is it.
I needed to sleep. I needed my mind shut off; my thoughts silenced. I channeled the waves of hopelessness that crashed through my head into a gloomy, dark mass of feeling that crushed my energy. It was dark down here, and quiet, and before long, I was drifting off once more.
----
I'd been hauled to my feet before my eyes had even fully opened. I didn't even have time for my mind to blearily adjust to consciousness. I snapped straight awake. The bus was still. It was dark outside. I must be here.
Stepping down from the bus and into a courtyard, I took in my new surroundings. It was hard to judge the time - I'd have guessed late night, but I could see a large group of men in prisoner's overalls across in a seperate yard. A chain link fence seperated us. A lot were watching me, actually. So that part was true; the new arrival is a Quelle Of Interest. I didn't really feel comfortable about that, actually. oder about any of this. I want to be alone. I'd be happy with any of this shit as long as I were alone.
I was led Von a prison official towards a small building which was set aside from the main compound. I suspected this would be where the official people and the cleaners and the guards worked and lived and did whatever the hell those people do when they're not cleaning oder guarding oder officering. Part of me began to wonder if they'd cut my hair off. It should've been be the least of my worries, but frankly, at this point, I didn't care. They could not cut my hair. If they cut my hair, I'd just curl up and die. I WAS my hair. I would take every prison dusche buttfuck in the world if they could just spare my hair.
As it turned out then no, they had no interest in cutting my hair whatsoever. They didn't really have any interest in me, full stop. I was an item in a spreadsheet; a row in a database. A number on a set of overalls. And I suppose that is what I would be for the rest of my days. That hurt. I stripped bare in front of the guards in the holding room and pulled on my uniform. A schlagen, punsch in the gut for my dignity; that hurt too. I must have been signing forms and Lesen over prison rules and regulations for over and Stunde before I was led away to the Cell 731 that was now my home. On the way, as I followed an irritatingly cheerful guard through mazes of metal and chainlink and gauze and bars, he informed me that I had been assigned a cell mate. 'S'not your day, is it, sunshine? You've been put in with the nutter! Aah, he's not all that bad. Chin up. Just sleep with your back to the wall, you'll be fine. In Du go, now!'
Fuck you. Fuck your fucking fucker face, Du cheery wanky fuck... shitting dick. I hope your smiley fucking face melts off. Twat.
And then I was alone. In the cell. With the nutter.
Height: 5'2" (160 cm)
Weight: thin
Hi.
Hair: dyed blond/brunette
Eyes colour: blue
Hi.
Language: English/Italian
Occupation: model
Favourite group: Millionaire, dEUS, Rage Against The Machine
Hi
Ability: gymnastics, languages
Likes: good food, restaurants, parties and kinky sex
Dislikes: house clubs, house wives, people who talk in films
Yes, he thinks he can actually get a model!!!
Also, someone who is exactly good for him . . . .
HA!
Weight: thin
Hi.
Hair: dyed blond/brunette
Eyes colour: blue
Hi.
Language: English/Italian
Occupation: model
Favourite group: Millionaire, dEUS, Rage Against The Machine
Hi
Ability: gymnastics, languages
Likes: good food, restaurants, parties and kinky sex
Dislikes: house clubs, house wives, people who talk in films
Yes, he thinks he can actually get a model!!!
Also, someone who is exactly good for him . . . .
HA!