Page 4 of Brainwashed
“That’s okay,” Ivan mumbles, a gruff voice to match his look, with the slightest hint of an accent.
As he’s reaching up to the top bunk, I ask, “Where are you from?”
He hoists himself up, choosing not to use the little ladder thing. “Brooklyn. Ukraine originally.”
I nod, watching as my new friend Ivan gets himself settled up on his bunk. It’s early, so chances are we won’t be going for showers or food for at least a few hours. Not that there’s any kind of schedule to be followed here.
Alabaster Penitentiary specializes in the most haphazard scheduling known to man. And it became apparent to me pretty quickly that they do it on purpose. Developing a routine is comforting to humans. And they want to keep us as uncomfortable as possible.
It’s the point, after all. We’re here because we’re the scum of the earth. The morally reprehensible.Evil.
Damned and destined for a rotting death surrounded by concrete and wasted potential.
Shaking that off, I continue to watch Wilkerson. He looks like he’s trying to sleep, which sets my jaw. I wanted a cellmate so I’d have some human contact. Maybe someone to talk to…
If I wanted to be ignored, I’d just continue walking around the way I was.
“I’m notinvisible,” I mumble under my breath.
Wilkerson’s eyes creep open and he glances at me. “What’s your malfunction, chief?” I simply blink at him. He sits up on his elbows. “Listen up,Carver. I know all about you. I heard on the news… But I’m not impressed. If you think you’re going to turn me into your next Christmas tree decoration, think again. I don’t play games, unless they’re gonna get me laid.” He pauses to look me up and down. “And you’re a little too old for my tastes.”
My stomach turns, tightness gripping my chest as he closes his eyes and lies back down. My fingers twitch at my sides as I continue to watch him, pulse increasing steadily.
I’m toooldfor him…?I’m fucking twenty-three…
Crawling back onto my bunk, I lie on my side and face the wall. I feel heavy. Weighted to the stiff mattress beneath me. Closing my eyes, I see a face… One I haven’t seen in a long time outside of my head. Hazel eyes and dirty blonde hair… Pouty lips.
Curved into a frown. He was sad… and scared the last time I saw him.
A man jogs through my memories.
Red splashes.
My muscles ache and burn. My lungs are tight. The smell of copper surrounds me.
My fingers swipe through the sticky red on his face…
Eyes shooting open, my head turns slowly to the bars on the bunk bed. To the piece of metal I’ve been bending every day. It’s loose…Almost there.
I aim my gaze at the bottom of the bed above me.Nice to meet you, Ivan Wilkerson.
You’ll do just fine.
Felix Harmon Darcey
Age: Twelve
Location: Ridgefield, CT
Childhood Home
Being out in the forest has always been my favorite.
There’s something so comforting about the quiet. The colors, the smells… I could spend hours exploring the woods behind our house, back in Connecticut. Whether it was raining, or sunny, or there was snow on the ground. It was always different out there.
In the forest, I was invisible… But I liked it. I was supposed to be invisible out there. Meant to creep around unseen. It was the only way to explore, after all.
I used to play this game where I’d hide behind trees and pretend I was spying on someone. I’d seal my back to the bark, occasionally peering around to sneak peeks at the person I was following. And he had no idea I was even there.
