Page 5 of Caged In

“You sure ‘bout that?” Reni’s tone drips with sceptical mockery.

“Whatever.” Izz laughs, waving his hand to dismiss his cellmate’s remark. “I’m not seeing flying horses with it, so it’s not going into the drug column for me.”

Reni rolls his eyes. Turning to lead the way once more, shoving through the clusters of inmates. Blowing a kiss to one man who snaps at him. Izz has to admire loud mouths total lack of concern and fearless disregard for the many inmates with a larger muscle mass.

He follows along in Reni’s wake. Trying to keep his smirk to himself, as he watches other inmates shoot daggers at his cellmate’s back. Expecting a fight to break out at any second, but other than some slurred words and heated looks, nobody starts anything. He’s not sure he wants to witness a fight on his first day, or be dragged into one . . .

3

Izz’s cellmate pilots him away from the cells, through an archway, and into a wide-open corridor. He’s greeted by blank white walls, a total lack of decorative paintings or anything really. Depression comes to mind once more. If he has to put a face to what depression looks like—in a mental image—it would be this brightly-lit white prison tunnel. Maybe that’s the point? Prison isn’t supposed to be a happy joyous place. Wouldn’t be much of a punishment if everyone wants to be here.

They pass a few closed doors—one door with a label reading,CleaningSupplies—and a collection of split-off corridors punching out at random intervals in the walls. He has no idea where they lead. He fears he will be here long enough to figure it out. With the time he has in this cage, he will eventually learn all the secrets held within this whitewash of depression. Not a concept he’s thrilled by.

The two cellmates march along until the long corridor spills out into a huge, open cafeteria room with high ceilings. The space is crammed full of long tables lining the two outer walls—two dozen, at least. A clear pathway through the centre funnels the inmates to the food serving bar—if it’s called that?—at the back of the room. A kitchen is visible behind the inmates’ serving meals to the impatient men forming an ever-growing queue.

Bundled closely together, each table is big enough to seat thirty inmates—perhaps even more if they squish together. The starting table in each row is planted next to the wall on either side of the corridor entrance—the same entrance Izz stands frozen in, numbly gaping at the noisy chaotic mealtime in full swing.

The sheer size of the cafeteria is overwhelming. Multiple, large flapping double-doors are spaced out around the room. High above his head are windows, thick and lined with bars like every other glass window in this cage. However, these bars are on the interior, not the exterior.If you threw a chair at them—if you can find a chair not bolted into the floor—you wouldn’t be able to break the glass. No doubt it’s bulletproof too.

He blinks back into focus when Reni flies straight towards the line to collect food. Izz dodges in and out of the obstacle course of inmates and their food trays. A sea filled with tattooed men—the occasional odd one out with no visible tattoos.

He drags his feet, trailing slowly behind his cellmate. Not keen to find out how bad the food will be. Food he is required to eat during his stay here—unless he wants to starve to death—

Will the prison let him starve? Or will they strap him down and force him to eat? They’re forcing him to stay in this cage, against his will, isn’t too much of a stretch to imagine them shoving food down his throat—

Why don’t they call this abduction? It feels abductiony, to say the least . . .

Prison,a fancy word forabduction.

His head twists—eyes scanning—to keep a watchful eye on the inmates brushing past him. So many of them everywhere, at least five hundred. The tables filling fast. The noise level rising as hundreds of voices compete for airtime. Adding on to the thick smells of men and multiple food choices.

The thick queue Reni lands in, is a decent length, with more inmates filing in by the second. Izz shuffles along the line to his cellmate, who is high fiving another inmate, and starting a rapid fire conversation. One Izz can’t keep track of, too many confusing words and half sentences, which make no sense to an outsider. And that’s exactly what he is.

For now.

No way is he living here for months and months without making friends, how boring would that be. He doesn’t do floating on the outskirts of socialisation. He’s more a dive headfirst—and make a fool out of himself, without a care in the world—type of person. He’s liable to find out the waters are full of unexpected jagged rocks, tangling driftwood, and fast-moving predators, to snare and maim him. He has to be more vigilant of the way he interacts with people in here. Unless he wants to get stabbed—shivved? Do they still call it a stabbing in prison? Or is that only an‘outside-world’term?

His focus is drawn away from his rambling thoughts—and his cellmate’s hyper conversation—by an icy warning shooting up his calves into his ass and exploding through his stomach. As if he were electrocuted with a cold chill—

His eyes latch onto a tall, well-built, inmate, dressed in prison grey. 6’3, with a messily spiked mohawk—black sides, and a red stripe down the middle, reminding him of a redback spider.

He’s curious with the way the sea of inmates’ part to give the mohawked male a wide birth. Perhaps they too are experiencing the same assault to the little hairs on the backs of their necks, as he is.

He’s drawn to the tantalizing male by something he can’t put his finger on—as the male strides directly to the front of the queue. Cutting in front of the dozens waiting, and no one expresses any issues with it. No one speaks a word about it, the majority all around Izz deliberately avert their eyes.

The spikey-haired inmate collects a tray, sliding it along to select his food and moves on. Swallowed up in the sea of grey, as everyone once again parts to get out of his way—

“ . . . this is Izz.” Reni’s voice spears into Izz’s skull, a hand slapping down on his shoulder. He barely catches the ending of his cellmate’s sentence—what is Reni talking about?—

Izz comes face to face with the inmate Reni had high-fived earlier. A little too close for comfort, considering they’re strangers, and in prison.

This inmate is marginally taller than Izz. Black hair covering his ears to hang over a well-formed jawline. His skin pale white—vampire, in a dark cave, pale—resulting in the black tattoo, on the side of his neck, to stand off his skin, the colour contrast freakishly flawless. His eyes, a pale blue, soft and light, matching his skin tone.

Izz has to admit the vampire look-a-like is cute. Not his type but he can appreciate the allure.

The vampire inmate smiles at him, revealing a smooth set of teeth and no fangs, much to his disappointment. He would not have been surprised if the guy sported a set of permanent dental fangs. Those fake fangs dentists will stick to your teeth for the right amount of money.

“Name’s Blake,” vamps drawls, as he holds out his hand towards Izz.

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