Creative Writing Collection

Jail Isn't That Bad

       I wasn’t in jail for too long. Just a few months. Almost a year, really. The court decided that I had justifiable reason to do what I had done to my not-dad. But because I had taken such a violent step forth, hey held be in jail for about a year. It’s like a big “timeout” with lots of other delinquents. I didn’t have homework, or have to deal with those stupid people in my classes, I didn’t even have to face mom. Well, only when she came to visit.

       She saw me the first day of every month, no matter if it was a working weekday or early on a Sunday. Instead of church, she’d come see me. I was quiet most of the time. She always went off about how sorry she was, that she should have been paying more attention. Mom even told me that she was getting divorce papers ready. That was about 9 months ago. She still hasn’t told me how it’s gone.

       It’s August 12th, 2015. I have only 17 days left I’m free to go. I’m not sorry for what I did. I don’t regret it. And I probably never would. I still have nightmares. I’ve always had nightmares since Ethan arrived.

       I’m in my cell, laying in my bed, looking up at the ceiling. It’s about two feet away from my face, and I my fingers lightly fumble with a small, metal ball the size of my pinkie nail. Something about unstable mentality or something, but I had to have the ball with me at all times. I grew to like it. It was smooth and cool and always gave me something to do.

       My cell-mate, Avery, was reading a book — I think it was some stupid teenage vampire love story or something. Mainly because I hear her groan in reader’s agony every once in a while. Yup. Definitely something teenagy and lovey dovey and stupid.