Page 52 of Babalon

I guess there are a lot of new faces to get to know, charges to memorize, people to avoid.

“Patton, your funds are out again. You’ll have to come back once they’re filled,” the guy behind the cage says.

“What? No, the funds were there before I went to seg.”

“Yeah, and they’re not there today. I don’t know what to tell you, now get out of line.”

“Hold the fuck up, look again. Maybe you pulled up the wrong inmate.”

“Do I look like a dumbass to you?”

“You want me to answer that question truthfully or are you going to cry about it when I hurt your fucking feelings?”

This is bullshit. When he said the money’s gone, I know he’s telling the truth. There’s no reason to argue about it. I’m just pissed off and I’m secretly hoping that he did do something wrong, that way I can give him more shit for it later.

This is a normal occurrence for me, just another day in Darkwater Correctional.

“Guards!” the asshat shouts, catching the attention of two that like to linger close by.

Dammit.

“What is it?” asshole one asks.

“This inmate is holding up the line and won’t get lost. Can you make him move along?”

“You got it,” asshole two chirps up. “Come on, inmate, let’s go.”

If I didn’t want to stay the hell out of seg I would have caused a scene. I’m over being pushed around. When one of the goons reaches for my arm, to tote me away like a petulant child, I snatch it and march off. Guess I am going to chow after all, and please, to all that is holy, let Nadia be off this evening. And let Nate be off butt fucking some new inmate.

It’s goulash today, one of the better dishes the kitchen crew manages to put together. Noodles are a little soggy, but I’ll manage. At least there is salt and pepper mixed in, since theprison won’t invest in any sort of seasonings. Other than that, I sit on my own since Matias is off with the rest of the homies doing whatever it is they do; thanks, buddy. It’s like he knows when I need to be left alone without having to ask me. After a few years of friendship, you’d hope he’d have it figured out by now.

Staring down into my tray of goulash and the stale dinner roll, I push around some of the concoction while barely managing coherent thoughts. It’s like I am disassociating from everything around me, all because of that snitch.

I don’t understand how she can do something like that to someone who is innocent, well, I’m innocent in my eyes. I guess it was payback for what I said. I just didn’t realize she would go that far, yet here I sit, wrong as hell. I don’t like being wrong, to be honest, but I’m finding that I am, more often than not.

I know I’m angry, and don’t want to see her at all, but a part of me wants to ask her why. Why would she do such a thing when I’ve never once went out of my way to hurt her? Sure, I’d be a smartass and mess up her day, but to hurt her? No. That’s also going to change. There’s no more Mr. Nice Kace.

That sounds stupid.

Either way, it’s done—the damage that is.

Finishing up with my meal, I stand up from the table and walk over to the trash cans by the exit door. Throwing away what was remaining and dropping the tray on top of the shelf above the food encrusted hole. Stepping to the side, I turn and look over my shoulder towards a growing noise at the opposite end of the cafeteria, seeing two inmates clash together. Several others are watching from the sidelines. And then a disturbing scream echos in the hall just as one inmate rears back and stabs the other in the stomach.

Shaking my head, I spin and leave out of the door before the room is thrust into another lockdown.

God, I hate this fucking place.

I have one more stop to make before I shut myself away, others may likely be milling around in the common room until lights out, but I’ll be in my cell. You’d think I might want to get out and away from four constraining walls, like I was confined in seg, but my actual cell is comforting. Not to mention it has necessities such as a bed, blankets, and a working toilet. Part of me believes that seg wouldn’t have been that bad were those few things provided but I know better.

Stopping by the classrooms, I check to see if my professor has left anything for me, which he didn’t. I’m going to have to make it up like I have before by coming in early or staying late. This shit is really starting to mess with my plans and my means to help Matias.

Trudging from there, I stop at the library and find another book to read over but this one is more for pleasure reading versus studying. You get to a point where you need to drown yourself in something that doesn’t consume every waking minute of your day-to-day life. While I find interest in legal proceedings and the law, nothing compares to picking up a good thriller or horror novel.

I choseN0S4A2by Joe Hill, hoping it drags me away from this reality and into another one.

On my way back to my cell, I flip through the pages when a shoulder rams into mine from the front. I snap my head up, brows pinch together in the middle, looking see who in the hell can’t watch where they are walking.

Stopping, and almost tripping over my words, I stare at the inmate before me. There is something hollow in his eyes and he puts off a wave malicious intent. While I have been here long enough to learn who I can pop off to, and who I can’t, he is hard to get a read on.

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