Page 14 of Caged In

Izz cracks an eye open, peeking through his lashes, to see his cellmate bouncing near the cell door. A trapped dog ready to be let out for its morning run.

Sighing dramatically, he rolls off his bed. Stumbling to his feet, to relievehimself in the microscopic prison toilet. You would think a metal toilet would cost more, wouldn’t a plastic one be cheaper for the prison to buy? Although . . . plastic toilet lids break easily, no doubt an opportune weapon for a murderous inmate.

He lets loose a loud yawn, receiving a protesting jaw pop for his troubles. Rubbing a hand down his face to stimulate his mind for another ‘fun’day in this ‘wonderful’prison.

Cage is more like it.

Izz winces at his thoughts, they’re saturated in sarcasm. Dripping with resentment. When one could argue he’d brought these circumstances upon himself—

Another shrill alarm sounds, the cell doors beeping open. Another day in Hell. Another day of punishment. Wonder what this day will bring his way?

“Be back. Gots’ some people to see,” his cellmate yells over his shoulder on the way out the door.

Izz grunts his reply. Letting Reni interpret the response any way he chooses. From ‘yeah, I don’t care,’to, ‘okay, no problem’.

God, my back is aching.

Shuffling over to his bunk, he stiffly slumps onto the flat paper mattress, arching his back to crack some of the stiffness out. He’s going to develop serious joint problems sleeping on this bunk in a matter of nights. How will he fare after months on the thing? He’ll be walking around like a ninety-year-old crippled by arthritis by the end of the week.

Izz rearranges his slept-in clothes. Running his hands through his hair to flatten the unruly tangles into submission. He might need to get a hairbrush or comb, at some point—he’s seriouslylacking in the money department. Whatever money he had is with his family and it’s going to stay that way. They need it more than he does.

How long until his meagre savings run dry? How long until his mum’s the sole one making money for the two of them? How long until they can’t pay the rent anymore—

He springs to his feet. If he stays in here with his mind eating away at him, he’s liable to try that escape plan out the tiny window. See if his head truly is too big to fit out.

Izz stepsfree of his cell. Saunteringover to the railing. He peers at the floor below. There are so many inmates out already, interacting with each other, laughing and making a ruckus. They must be used to the early rising.

What time is it?

Early.

Early is what it is.

He yawns once again. Thumping his elbow onto the rails to lean his chin on his palm. Observing the inmates from above, not absorbing many details, allowing the chattering lull of voices to flow over him. Encasing him in a blanket of calm. He might fall asleep right here, can’t be any worse than his bunk.

Izz locatesReni far beneath, leaning his ass back against a table, arms crossed, as he chats with a group of inmates Izz has not seen before.

Or perhaps he has but hadn’t taken notice of them.After all, he’s floating among an uncountable quantity of new faces. Trying to recognise everybody in less than a day is an impossible feat.

“Hey. You must be the new guy.”

Izzpeeks at the voice, not bothering to remove his face from his palm. An inmate is leaning casually against the bars of the next cell. An amused smirkon their face.

The inmate’s demeanour screams—sleazy and sketchy. With a terribly inked dragon tattoo—he believes it’s a dragon, hard to tell with the back-alley quality of work—smack dabin the middle of a shirtless chest. The colours vomiting together in a swirl of mismatched slime.

“I guess so,” Izz replies, to be polite. No need to make enemies if he can avoid it.

The inmaterolls off the bars, slinking over to the rails Izz’s reclining on. Vomit tattoo and all, slithering too close. Way too close to be respectful of his personal space.

Izz straightens to his full height. His instincts flaring that this man harbours dishonourable intentions. So he backs off, leaving a considerably larger distance between them. Snarling at the man soundlessly,when the inmate again slithers up into his space.

“What’s the hurry?” the inmate hisses, licking his dry lips. “We can hang in my cell. Have a little . . .chat.”

With the way the man’s eyesglint, Izz has no doubts about what ‘chat’implies. And he has no interest in going anywhere with him.

“Nah, I’m good,” Izz takes yet another step back.

What he wants is a few hours to wake up. A few hours of peace to laze around and try to forget about his stiff muscles. Instead, here he is. In a crappy situation he wants no part of.

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