Trapped with the Animals

desperate times

"line up for count, inmates." a guard yells. i'm in a cell with 3 older ladies. jesus, they stuck me in a nursing home?

i stand at the foot of my bunk as a CO walks past with a small clicker. he pokes his head into the room and takes one, long look at me. he squints harder until he walks into the next room.

i hope he got a good first impression of me because mine was that he's a pedo. he's got black hair, with a mullet in the back, and a pedo stache to match.

"alright count is over, march your sorry asses to dinner" the CO yells and my grandma roomies hobble out of bed.

i sit down in my bunk and take a deep breath. and then another. and then another. cmon man relax.

"aren't you coming, cookie?" a woman with an oxygen tank asks me. i need to calm down before i go to the cafeteria and become the mona lisa of the gallery.

she notices my pale face and begins to reassure me.

"you won't be stuck with our sorry asses forever, you will be moved into the dorms and be wearing beige in a few days." she says as she wheels her oxygen take out the door with her.

the last thing i want to think about is eating food. i have been spewing out nothingness since i got here.

i think i'll just skip dinner.
~~~
the rain pours down hard onto my back. it feels comforting. the cool air brushing against my back, partnered with the beads of water.

i'm not really a crier, but i wasn't holding back anymore. the rain masked my tears tho, making things a little easier. i've never been the type to vocally sob, but my eyes water up all the time.

i'm sitting on the cold sidewalk when a strange man walks up to me. i slowly look up, unable to clearly see his face, when i notice a small bottle in his hand.

he slowly bends down and sits beside me on the pavement. i keep my head down, not really in the mood to have a conversation.

"are you okay?" he asks. god i hate that question. isn't it obvious to people that's when somebody is crying, they're not okay? it must be a lack of common sense or something but i recognize his voice. it takes a second, but a deep rage comes over me.

i slowly lift my head and come face to face with him. it's wesley. my secondary school bully. what the fuck would he want.

"if you're here to kick my ass or call me some stupid slur just fuck off please." i ask him calmly. this could get real ugly real fast and i'm not in the mood to deal with it.

"i just thought you may want these." and he hands me a pill bottle with no label. great, he's trying to kill me now?

"what is it?" i ask nervously, staring down at the bottle.

"oxi, it will take your mind off things."

"first one is free, hit me up if you want more." he adds as he stands up and walks away.

i continue to sit in the rain, now staring down at the pills in my hand.
~~~
"let's go inmates" i hear a CO yell as the door to our cell opens. i didn't sleep much last night. the withdrawal symptoms have only just started and it's already unbearable.

now starving, considering my stomach has been more than empty the last 24 hours, i decide to go to breakfast. if i'm being honest, i have no idea where the cafeteria is. i was less focused on morellos tour than i was on my constant feeling of my inside out stomach.

i follow the oxygen tank lady and eventually end up in the cafeteria. i can tell i'm looking even paler than yesterday and my palms are sweaty and clammy.

deep breaths austin, you got this, i try reassuring myself. i stand in line for breakfast and i finally look up from staring at my feet, and notice pretty much everybody is staring at me.

it's finally my turn in line and a spoonful of what looks like the shit i spewed into the toilet last night. i look past the woman serving me to see an older woman with fiery red hair. she's looking at me confused, but also with interest.

i decide i don't want to be in an endless staring competition with who i assume is the head chef, so i break the silence.

"did you make this? it's excellent." i say to her, as a smile widens across her face. she seems to be a very proud woman, and i want to earn my respect in this place. make friends not enemies.

"what's your name, british boy?" she asks noticing her deep russian accent. sweet we get to be accent buddies.

"royale, and you?" i ask in return. and she responds.

"red."
~~~
i stand in the kitchen of the empty house, the rain still trickling on the windows and roof. it's uncomfortably quiet. i sit down at the counter and prepare a peanut butter-nutella sandwich. i turn on the tele and the first program to turn on is the news.

"we have breaking news that reports that lead guitarist for manchester's very own 'red sun rising' alternative rock band has died in a tragic motorcycle accident. further information after this break." she says as the screen shows a tall man with an angel neck tattoo.

i sigh as an advertisement begins to play. i look over at the mantle at a picture of my father and i. next, i shuffle around in my pocket for that pill bottle and carefully pour 2 pills onto the counter.

i get up to fill a glass of water from the fridge and walk back over to the pills. i'm staring them down now, and they stare back.

finally, i take them into my hand and throw them into the back of my throat as i look back at the picture on the mantle.

dad sure loved that angel tattoo.