Trip

[MMM3]

Sitting in a cell, the concept of time disappears. You only know when it's time to eat and when it's time to sleep. And sometimes, the state takes even that away.

After a month in sol for getting into a fight with the other skinheads, he sat on his bunk in his empty cell going over his plans one last time. He had plans with a nigger, yes a nigger. They weren't friends, they weren't buddies. They were just two like individuals wishing for freedom. The only reason he was working with him was because he had no one else. No one on the outside or the inside. And this particular nigger worked in the laundry pit.

A day later, they were both on the outside, running for their freedom, for their lives. They split up, never to see each other again. Neither cared if the other made it.

The hairless white man ran and ran. Cheap flat sole sneakers didn't keep out the cold, and he had ditched his orange jumpsuit before they made it over the wall. Balls snuggled close against his body for warmth, he only stopped for water and to survey the search party from a distance.

On he ran as soon as he felt safe. He didn't mind running now, even though his entire body ached and his side felt as though it were split open. Running gave him a much needed warmth.

An unlocked door lead to the kitchen of a bar, a skinny brunette and his new life.

<font color="#FFFFFF" size="1">[ December 16, 2007 09:38 PM: Message edited by: Trip ]</font>