“Call me Ishmael,” I read aloud as I started on a new book.

I was currently sitting on the edge of an uncomfortable cot as I began on the new book. Lately, I’d gotten into reading ‘the classics’, though most of them were boring as hell. I had to admit though, I got a real kick out of the Count of Monte Cristo.

“Too bad there aren’t any books here on lockpicking,” I mused aloud. Unfortunately, the warden wouldn’t allow that.

With that, I looked up and quickly glanced over the small cell that had been my home for the last couple years. I didn’t have a cellmate at the moment, which meant that I had my pick of the two bunks. But of course, that situation wouldn’t last for long, and within a couple days, I’d probably be sharing space with someone else again.

I didn’t have much hope for my new cellmate, whoever it turned out to be. Most of my previous cellmates had been assholes, which was to be expected in a prison. Of course, the fact that I tended to rub people the wrong way didn’t help any either.

With that, I turned my attention back to the book, though I only made it a couple pages in before a guard came by and smacked the bars on my cell with his baton, nearly making me jump.

“Yard time, Donovan,” the guard said with a smirk. “Time to go for walkies in the dog park.”

“Woof woof,” I responded flatly.

I stood up and stretched, carefully setting the book aside as I did so. If you fucked up any of the library books, they wouldn’t let you borrow any others. And since there wasn’t much else to do in my cell, I did NOT want to lose library privileges.

A short time later, I stepped into the yard, the playground of the prison. However, this place was far more dangerous than any playground, in spite of all the prison guards keeping watch. In fact, part of the reason it was so dangerous was because of the guards.

There were multiple gangs spread out around the yard, each of them mostly keeping to their own members while being hostile to the others. Each gang seemed to have at least one other gang that they seemed to hate with a passion, which made the yard a roiling cauldron of hostility that was on the verge of bubbling over at any moment.

The Aryan Brotherhood, who were generally hated by most of the inmates who weren’t members, had the north corner. They’d invited me to join once or twice, suggesting that it would be for my protection, but I usually avoided those bastards. In fact, I tended to avoid all the gangs as much as I could, which kept me out of a lot of their politics but also left me lacking any protection they could provide.

There were two main black gangs, both of whom had someone watching the Aryan Brotherhood as well as each other. Several smaller gangs and cliques were scattered about the yard, leaving me and other unaffiliated inmates to slip around between them.

I looked around at the various gangs, then at the weight benches that were set up for people who wanted to lift. Some of those guys were pretty ripped, making me feel a bit self-conscious about my slender build and lack of visible muscle.

“I should probably start working out,” I mused, though I knew that I certainly wasn’t going to do it there. If I really wanted to get in better shape, my only real option would be to just do push-ups and stuff in my cell, and there was no way I’d actually bother with that.

“Hey, Mike,” someone called out to me.

I looked over to the man who was casually walking over to me. Dave Geitz was probably the closest thing that I had to a friend in this place, though I wouldn’t trust him any further than I could throw him. Still, he was friendly enough.

“Dave,” I responded with a brief nod.

Dave came to a stop near me and looked around. After a few seconds, he said, “I heard that Macon was talking about kicking your ass again. Said he wants to teach you another lesson.”

“Great,” I said with a shrug. “With as many lessons as I’ve gotten, you’d think I’d have my degree already.”

“A degree in getting your ass kicked?” Dave asked with a snort. “Fuck that shit. You need to fight back so they stop fucking with you.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not much good at fighting back,” I admitted. Normally, you shouldn’t admit that kind of thing, but I’d had my ass kicked enough times that I was simply stating the obvious. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

Dave snorted at that. “Well, I suppose that would be one way to earn some protection, but I wouldn’t say it too loud or someone might take you up on that.”

“Good point,” I told him with a shrug.

He was about to say something else when he abruptly tensed up. “Fuck.”

I followed his gaze and saw a large figure heading towards me. Macon. It looked like he wanted to teach me another lesson, right here in the yard.

“Good luck,” Dave told me before he quickly hurried off, leaving me to face Macon on my own.

Macon was a big man, six-foot-three and heavily muscled. His head was shaved completely bald, though he had a couple tattoos down the middle of his scalp as though he was going for a tattoo mohawk. He was one of the guys who liked to hang around the weight bench, and the kind who liked to throw his own weight around whenever possible.

As Macon approached, he clenched his fists and gave me a menacing look, the kind that spoke loud and clear about what he was about to do. I quickly looked around for a way out, but a couple of his buddies had come up nearby and were guarding any ways out. Then Macon reached me and grabbed my shoulder in a painful grip.

“Donovan,” Macon said with a snarl, spittle flying at me as he spoke.

Since I was about to get my ass kicked anyway, I figured that I didn’t have anything to lose.

“Did anyone ever tell you,” I pointed out, “that with those tats running down the middle of your head, you kind of look like a giant dick.”

Macon didn’t waste time on a snappy comeback, assuming he could string two words together. His fist slammed into my gut, making me double over with a grunt of pain. I knew from past experience that this was just the warm-up. There was a pretty good chance that I’d end up in the infirmary again.

Before Macon could get serious about messing me up, one of the guards called out, “BREAK IT UP.”

I was a little surprised at that since the guards usually look the other way when it came to things like this. Macon glared at me and I could see the wheels turning…very slowly. I could almost hear the hamster trying its hardest but not really going anywhere. But after a few seconds, Macon let me go.

“We’ll finish this later, Donovan,” Macon told me before he abruptly turned and walked away.

“Make an appointment,” I responded with a grunt, still hurting from his punch. “Have your people contact my people.”

Dave was suddenly by my side again, musing, “You got off pretty light this time.”

“Until he catches me later,” I reminded Dave.

Dave just shrugged. “You shouldn’t keep pissing him off.”
“Probably not the smartest thing I could do,” I admitted with a sigh.

Unfortunately, I had a long history of my mouth getting me into trouble, and it was too late to change my ways now. I mean, if I hadn’t learned my lesson after mouthing off in court…

With that, I turned and started to walk away, only to suddenly feel a sharp pain in my side. I let out a gasp of pain, only to feel it again and again.

“Fuck,” I exclaimed as I dropped to the ground, realizing that I’d just been shanked.

“I’m sorry,” Dave told me with a guilty expression. “They didn’t give me any choice…”

“Fuck,” I repeated, not bothering to ask who ‘they’ were. It could have been Macon and his friends, or one of the many other people I’d pissed off. “You bastard…”

“Sorry,” Dave told me again before he hurried away, probably trying to clear the area before the guards realized what had just happened.

I lay on the ground, grimacing in pain and silently cursing myself for turning my back on Dave. I’d known that I couldn’t trust him, that he’d turn on me if the price was right. However, I’d thought that I’d see it coming, that I’d see some clue before he tried anything.

People surrounded me, saying things though I couldn’t make out who they were or what they were saying. Probably guards and medics. Everything was fading too much to tell.

Then, my thoughts went back over my past, to the events that led to my being there. My entire life flashed before my eyes.

I remembered my dad leaving when I was a kid, just picking up and taking off without a word to either me or my mom. That was the last time I’d ever seen him. I remembered when I turned sixteen and my mom’s boyfriend had thrown me out of the house while she’d looked the other way. I remembered my first burglary and the rush of fear and excitement that had come with it. And then, I remembered my last burglary.

The house was supposed to have been empty. The plan had been the same as always, with me busting in, swiping a few things I could easily sell, and then slipping back out. I would have earned some easy money, insurance would have covered the costs, and nobody would have really gotten hurt.

But someone had been home and he’d come at me with a gun. In desperation, I fought back, and during the struggle, the gun had gone off.

I still remembered the sound of the gunshot, the look on his face as the light faded from his eyes, and the feel of his warm blood splattered across my own face. The very memory made me sick to my stomach and filled me with guilt.

I’d never wanted to hurt anyone. There was a reason that I’d been a burglar rather than a mugger or armed robber, not that the end result had been any different. A man was dead because of me.

Now, my own life was over. I could feel it. I wasn’t going to wake up in the infirmary this time. This was the end of Mike Donovan, and I knew that there wasn’t a single person alive who would mourn me.

Everything faded away, even the pain from where I’d been stabbed. Then, as my last spark of consciousness was being claimed by the cold darkness, letters suddenly appeared in front of me, even if they only existed in my mind.

WOULD YOU LIKE TO RESPAWN?