Page 42 of Babalon

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know what the fuck that is or where that came from,” I rush out. Anger rolling up my neck in a wave of heat. He hands the baggy of white powder over to Clark where he inspects it. Opening the tiny zip-loc type closure, he scoops out a tiny bit and smears it across his cobalt thiocyanate test that all COs carry; the damn thing lighting up bright blue just as I figured it would.

Fucking great.

I stare at the white painted wall, trying to figure out at what point I was close enough for someone to plant that on me. I can hear them behind me, chattering and calling shit through their radio about transport, but nothing can drown out the absolute fury in my head.

“No, Pierce isn’t escorting him; we got him. Waiting for a cell to be unlocked,” Clark states.

“Hold on, what are we doing? You honestly don’t fucking think that’s mine, right?”

“It was on you, found on you; so, it’s yours, Patton. You know the deal.”

“Oh, give me a damn break! You know that was planted. I’ve been here for years and have never got in trouble outside of a couple of fights.”

“Who the hell would plant cocaine on you then?”

Good fucking question.

“Beats the fuck out of me. I’ve only been with Ronald and Pier….”

Son of a fucking bitch… Nadia goddamn Pierce.

The walk down to solitary confinement is arduous. I never thought I would make it here, but then again, I never thought I would go to prison either. Seems like this life is just one wrongturn after another. Once we pass through several checkpoints, I come face-to-face with the small hole I’m going to be thrown into for however long. All of this over a bag of coke I know that fucking snake of a woman slipped into my pocket.

I am directed into the cell, the door closing behind me, then a small seven-inch by twelve-inch access port drops open, Clark calling through it.

“Back up to the window, inmate.”

Doing as he instructed; I feel him grab hold of my wrist and start unlocking the cuffs. I can’t begin to describe what it’s like to be shut in a room with no window, no space, and a single thick metal door keeping you locked away from the entire world as I know it.

When he releases me, I pull my hands back to the front and begin to rub them, attempting to regain the feeling in my fingertips and to get the redness to go away. There’s not much room in here, but I still take a moment to look around and try to just breathe.

The air down here is thick, like you’re trying to breathe in pure fog. It’s humid, it’s stifling, and it’s dark. I can barely hear the inmates down the hall; some soft coughing, and one of them is crying.

Hopefully, they’re not going to keep me here too long. I’ve always been surrounded by people, even in here where I prefer to be alone, but the ominous feeling of being locked away like I don’t exist is daunting. I can’t help but feel a shift in prison life as I know it.

Day 1 - Solitary Confinement

It took me a long while to get comfortable, but I finally found a corner where I was able to sit down and prop myself up against the wall. At my height, there’s no room to lay down without hitting the broken toilet. Therefore, to maintain cleanliness, I opted for sleeping in a sitting position.

That was a fucking mistake.

My back is in so much pain from my ass being on the floor all night that I can barely lean forward in a normal position without aches trailing down all of my limbs.

Lunch came around at some point, but don’t ask me what time because clocks and the sun are non-existent in seg. I got buttered toast, a single slice of bologna, and a cup of water, but it’s better than nothing.

The day drags on, eventually, I feel myself being pulled under as a blissful sleep takes over, at least until nightmares fill my dreams.

God, I hope this doesn’t last too much longer.

Day 3 - Solitary Confinement

I decided to lay with my head by the door; I couldn’t stand sleeping in a sitting position anymore. The hard, flat surface of the floor provided a little relief while sleeping last night, even if the areas where my bones were closest to the surface scream with discomfort.

They didn’t bring any food yesterday either, only a single cup of water that I downed then quickly scolded myself over because there is a chance that I may not get another.

Hearing several pairs of boots stomping down the hall, I move over to the drop-down port to see if I can get a glimpse of anything through a small opening I managed to find yesterday. Seeing who the boots belonged to--guards and a single inmate–tells me I’m not leaving today either. This guy looks like he has been to hell and back. His jumper is covered in blood splatter and ripped in a few places, too.

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