My newest entry into Chuck Wendig's weekly flash fiction contest. his website here: http://terribleminds.com/
Lately I started watching the show Prison Break, which is a great show full of interesting characters and some of the greatest tension in television history. Anyway, it inspired my story for this week.
Run. Must run. Faster and faster. Ow, dammit I tripped. Come on, have to get up and run. Can’t get caught, if they catch me they’ll rip me apart. Being a prison guard wasn’t usually that dangerous. The convicts almost always went after each other instead of the guards because it was easier and, to be honest, no one really cared if a prisoner stabbed another prisoner. But tonight, tonight was different. The air had gone out. It was not long before they started getting mad. Then furious, when the guards tried to force them into their cells they attacked them. Stole their keys and were flooding through the prison, toward me. Now it was dangerous, much too dangerous for my taste. I had to get out, I gritted my teeth, took a deep breath and sped up, trying to reach the entrance before the prisoners reached me first.
Hahaha. I haven’t had this much fun in years, six years in fact. Since they locked me up in this box fun hasn’t really played a big part in my life. Oh, but now it was, so much fun to be had. I love starting mayhem and when the air went out and those guards started shoving us around I knew it was the perfect time. I stabbed one with a shank I had planned on using on some unsuspecting inmate; don’t know who, hadn’t decided that yet. Once I stabbed that guard, all hell broke loose. Roundabout 20 others jumped on the remaining guard and beat him to death, stole his keys and made their way. Me, I stayed behind for a bit. Little bit of privacy for me and my…new friend. He just whimpered and started crying, pleading for his life with this sad pathetic look in his eyes. I love it when they do that, it’s the best part. I smiled and leaned in closer, staring deep into his eyes as I slid the knife up in between his ribs and into his heart, nighty night friend. I wiped the blade clean and continued on, determined to find more prey before the fun came to an end.
I can hear them behind me and I was lost. I don’t know how I got lost, I’ve been working here four 4 ½ years and not once have I ever gotten lost, but somehow in my frenzied panic I did, indeed get lost. This is not good. I can hear the prisoners getting closer. Chanting something unintelligible, but it can’t be good. A split ahead, crap which way which way…left, I’m going left. I slipped as I made my way around the corner, catching myself as soon as I hit the ground and jumping back up. I didn’t give myself time to catch my breath, just a pause, a deep breath and then off I go. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m getting farther away from the riot so that’s good. It had to happen in A wing. That’s where all the dangerous prisoners are, mostly murderers and rapist…and a single, solitary serial killer. If it any other state he’d probably be on death row, but this state doesn’t have the death penalty so he was thrown in with the rest of the violent offenders. A madman they say, and I have to deal with him on a daily basis. I learned not to look in his eyes; it’s the most unsettling thing I’ve ever gone through. Those cold dead eyes, light blue like chips of ice that seem to stare right into the deepest part of you. Like he’s staring at your deepest darkest fears and memories and laughing at them. At the thought of him I speed up slightly, I’m getting farther from the riot, but you can never be too safe.
This one tried to fight back, oh how cute. Probably doesn’t feel like fighting back much now, what with the missing fingers and all, cutting off fingers with a prison shank is not an easy thing to do, but I pride myself on my resilience…plus most anything can be accomplished with the right amount of force. He was much younger than the other ones, mid-late twenties I’d say, and I had a knack for this sort of thing. Actually, I have a knack for most things, waste of talent is what my psychiatrist said. Didn’t really say anything after that, mostly just gurgles. Not very strong psychiatrists. This prison guard on the other hand, pretty strong, probably worked out every day. Well, not anymore, I don’t think I’ll kill him, just leave him here, missing fingers and toes. Good luck oh brave one. Quick tip though, next time a 6’2” 200 pound delusional schizophrenic comes at you with a knife with blood soaking his clothes, just lay down.
I made oh thank God I made it. There’s the door, I finally made it, I never thought I’d be so happy to see an exit sign in my life. I must have made a right turn somewhere because here was freedom right in front of me. I stumble out the door and am met with the sight of several guns pointed at me. I need to find a new line of work.
Oh damn I can hear the cops outside. Well, guess the fun has come to an end. I see an unsuspecting inmate in front of me, I slam his head into the wall and drag him into a deserted bathroom. I strip myself down and wash all signs of blood off of me. After readying myself I punch the mirror and take a piece of glass and give myself a few cuts. Then I slam my body into the wall a few times for some bruises, after checking myself for blood again I put on the unconscious man’s clothes and get him into my blood soaked ones. I smile and make my way back to my cell. I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.