Page 67 of Fragments
This picture is fantastic, though. The fireworks are bursting into little shapes, shooting stars and bleeding hearts, with all kinds of detail woven into their embers. And at the bottom of the page, he drew two people sitting on the ground, watching them. They’re holding hands.
“You make me feel like fireworks over the ocean…”
Closing my eyes, I shake my head, folding the paper back up. The one behind it is a letter Ren wrote me… An apology letter.
Breathing out slowly, I fold them both back up and stuff them away.
Can’t go there. Not now.
With my arm plunged into my mattress, I finally feel something I know will work, and I tug it out quick.
My shiv!
It’s essentially just a piece of cement that’s been sharpened into a point made for stabbing someone. Brutal, I know, but I didn’t make it, nor do I plan to use it on anyone, unless I absolutely have to. My first cellmate, O’Bannon, gave it to me way back when, and I’ve kept it hidden well enough that it’s never been confiscated during checks.
Good thing too, because I believe this to be the perfect tool to help me carve some schematics into the wall. Having them on the wall will ensure they can’t be taken away.I mean, what are they gonna do? Paint over it?
Fat chance.
That would require actual work to be done to this place, which is something I’ve never once witnessed in all my years here. Hence the reason why AP shivs are a common form of weaponry. There’s no shortage of cement chunks falling from the ceilings as the building slowly erodes from lack of upkeep. Inmates scoop them up and grind them down. They’re a staple in this place.
That said, they’re about as sturdy as a piece of chalk, so I’ll have to go easy on this thing while scraping my plans into the wall. Hopefully, it doesn’t crumble to bits before I can finish.
And I’ll need to be careful. If Velle finds the shiv, I’m sure he won’t hesitate to shank me with it.
Putting the rest of my stuff away, I settle on my bed, facing the wall. And I get to work.
I draw a quick mockup, then label out each individual piece I need, making sure to abbreviate and detail instructions so only I can understand them.
To anyone else, it probably looks like a portrait of a washing machine or something. But to me, it’s a beauty. Obviously, a merefractionof the technological goddess that was LOIS, but still a worthwhile device. Like an old-school Linux; a back-alley version of what Wozniak probably used to build in his garage. Archaic, but complex in its own right.
Some of these parts will be easier to track down than others. Honestly, I’m not sure how I’m going to get this stuff, but it’s something to do. And if I could actually make this, inprison…Well, wouldn’t that just be the ultimate test to my abilities?
I’m frantically scribbling math into my wall when the bunk shifts, and I hear the familiar sound of Dash yawning. I can feel him standing up, quietly hovering on the floor behind me, so I peek at him over my shoulder.
“Morning, roomie.”
“Hey,” he croaks in his sleepy voice, only a little raspier than his usual velvety brogue.The dude has a great voice.“Whatcha doin’?”
“Making a computer,” I answer him, rounding off remainders in my head and factoring processor capacity for a standard CPU.
Dash is quiet until he murmurs, “Elaborate, please.”
Chuckling, I launch into an explanation of what I’m looking to do, and we end up chatting about it for a bit. Eventually, I climb down from my bunk, preparing for my morning routine by pulling out my stashed toothpaste and toothbrush, stuffing my shiv-pencil back in there nice and deep.
I can’t help but notice that Dash is extra fidgety, giving me an expectant look, like he’s waiting for me to address an elephant in the room that I just don’t see.
And a piece of last night ripples in my memory…The dream I had, about me and Ren. And the unprecedented addition of Dash.
I do remember him speaking to someone. Like someone else was in here, when I’m positive we were all alone. I thought it was part of my dream, but now he’s acting like somethingactuallyhappened last night. Something he feels like I was present for.
Oh my God… Did he hear me getting off??
Was I the one talking in my sleep?
He starts messing with his baggy jumpsuit pants, and my eyes fall to his waist, a distinct band of Calvin Klein boxer briefs peeking out. He tugs his pants up to hide it, but something is definitely going on. He didn’t have jack shit a week ago. Now, he’s got fancy boxers, and what looks to be a travel kit of toiletries resting on his bed.
Come to think of it, there was a bag left on his bed when we came back from dinner last night… I was so distracted, I forgot to ask him about it.
