Moving Day, Clip and Crime
October 2nd 2006 20:08
Okay, well, today is moving day at work so I was not able to actually blog. For those following the prison story, I didn’t want to wait till tomorrow to post….so look below.
The Wish Continued
Jim opened his eyes slowly. A bright light shone down on his face. For a minute, he thought he was in some kind of interrogation room like in the movies. As he scanned the room, he saw a stainless steel commode in the corner and a stainless steel bunk attached to the wall of the small area with only a two inch thick, plastic covered mattress. Jim raised up on one arm and looked at the tiny window on the door. Where the hell am I? Jim pulled himself up and climbed onto the bunk. Damn, I wish I was dead. Why couldn’t they have killed me? It all came back to him. That was it, rather than stay in prison, he would kill himself. He looked around the room for inspiration. It didn’t appear that he had much to work with.
As he contemplated his situation, there was a bang on the door. A panel on the window slid open and a tray was pushed through onto the ledge. Jim walked over to the tray and looked at it. It was food, but for the life of him, he could not identify what it was. So, okay...I’ll starve myself. With this kind of food, that would be easy. Jim walked back to the bunk and laid down. Body aching, Jim drifted off to sleep.
Jim, weak and dehydrated, opened his eyes at the sound of another tray hitting the floor. He found it amazing that they just kept sliding the trays through and never came back to get them. The cell was beginning to smell like a garbage truck. It had been three days since he had eaten and actually, apart from the weakness, he didn’t feel too bad. Damn, somehow this just didn’t look like the best of ideas. He had to come up with another way. The only thing he could think of was to do something with the mattress. But, what? Jim sat up and hesitated before going to the window to get the new tray. He needed strength to think. Finishing the gritty hot-dog, it occurred to Jim that he could probably poison himself with the food from the first tray he had received. Kicking through the mess on his floor, he found a tray with eggs. That’s it! Salmonella can kill you. Down on his knees, he picked up pieces of scrambled eggs and put them back on the tray. Among the food, he found a pork chop. Great...botulism! He put the chop on his tray. Taking the tray to the bunk. Jim ate the spoiled food. He waited. He waited some more. Eventually, he feel asleep.
Several hours later, he was awakened abruptly by the pains in his stomach. He leaned up. His thoughts drifted to his family. He hoped they’d understand. Prison was not for him. The pain was worsening. He sure hoped this worked! Suddenly and violently, he vomited...and he vomited...and he vomited. Then he passed out.
Jim opened his eyes. His nose itched and he tried to scratch it, only to find that his hands were restrained. A male nurse dressed in maroon scrubs approached him. “Good morning. How are ya this morning?” Jim looked at him and then at the restraints. The nurse smiled. “Uh...sorry about that, but we were afraid you’d go into convulsions. The food here’s not so great, is it? Are you feeling better?”
Jim took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I think so...unfortunately.”
The nurse stepped to his bedside. “What do you mean, unfortunately? Were you trying to get sick?”
Jim nodded. “You don’t understand...I can’t handle this! Take these restraints off...please!” Tears streamed down Jim’s face.
“No can do...it’s sounds like you’re suicidal. Psyche will have to give me permission to remove them and I can tell you straight up they won’t do it if they think you might try to hurt yourself.”
Jim closed his eyes and tried to will himself to die. He really was a failure, there was no denying it. He couldn’t even kill himself. He knew what he had to do. He had to get his act together to convince the psychiatrist that he was okay. He contemplated what he would say.
Jim’s face looked cheerful as the petite, Hitler-looking psychology assistant removed the restraints. Mr. Fetters had talked to Jim for over an hour listening to how he was just a little depressed. He seemed to be a nice man and Jim almost felt guilty for putting on such a charade. Well, you gotta do what you gotta do.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” the little man asked with real concern.
“Yeah...I was just feeling kind of depressed. Hell, if I really wanted to kill myself there are certainly quicker and better ways than to eat rotten food.”
Mr. Fetters chuckled. Jim thought that it was probably similar to how Hitler laughed. It must have been the man’s small structure and his thin, narrow cut mustache that reminded him of Hitler. Jim wondered where this man had been in his life.
“Okay, I’m sending you back to general population. If you start feeling bad or thinking bad thoughts, just go to the correction officer and tell him you need to talk to me. They’ll let you come over. Do you understand?”
“Yeah...yeah, I understand. Thanks for your help.”
Mr. Fetters smiled and handed Jim his pants and shirt. Jim took them and quickly got dressed.
The Wish Continued
Jim opened his eyes slowly. A bright light shone down on his face. For a minute, he thought he was in some kind of interrogation room like in the movies. As he scanned the room, he saw a stainless steel commode in the corner and a stainless steel bunk attached to the wall of the small area with only a two inch thick, plastic covered mattress. Jim raised up on one arm and looked at the tiny window on the door. Where the hell am I? Jim pulled himself up and climbed onto the bunk. Damn, I wish I was dead. Why couldn’t they have killed me? It all came back to him. That was it, rather than stay in prison, he would kill himself. He looked around the room for inspiration. It didn’t appear that he had much to work with.
As he contemplated his situation, there was a bang on the door. A panel on the window slid open and a tray was pushed through onto the ledge. Jim walked over to the tray and looked at it. It was food, but for the life of him, he could not identify what it was. So, okay...I’ll starve myself. With this kind of food, that would be easy. Jim walked back to the bunk and laid down. Body aching, Jim drifted off to sleep.
Jim, weak and dehydrated, opened his eyes at the sound of another tray hitting the floor. He found it amazing that they just kept sliding the trays through and never came back to get them. The cell was beginning to smell like a garbage truck. It had been three days since he had eaten and actually, apart from the weakness, he didn’t feel too bad. Damn, somehow this just didn’t look like the best of ideas. He had to come up with another way. The only thing he could think of was to do something with the mattress. But, what? Jim sat up and hesitated before going to the window to get the new tray. He needed strength to think. Finishing the gritty hot-dog, it occurred to Jim that he could probably poison himself with the food from the first tray he had received. Kicking through the mess on his floor, he found a tray with eggs. That’s it! Salmonella can kill you. Down on his knees, he picked up pieces of scrambled eggs and put them back on the tray. Among the food, he found a pork chop. Great...botulism! He put the chop on his tray. Taking the tray to the bunk. Jim ate the spoiled food. He waited. He waited some more. Eventually, he feel asleep.
Several hours later, he was awakened abruptly by the pains in his stomach. He leaned up. His thoughts drifted to his family. He hoped they’d understand. Prison was not for him. The pain was worsening. He sure hoped this worked! Suddenly and violently, he vomited...and he vomited...and he vomited. Then he passed out.
Jim opened his eyes. His nose itched and he tried to scratch it, only to find that his hands were restrained. A male nurse dressed in maroon scrubs approached him. “Good morning. How are ya this morning?” Jim looked at him and then at the restraints. The nurse smiled. “Uh...sorry about that, but we were afraid you’d go into convulsions. The food here’s not so great, is it? Are you feeling better?”
Jim took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I think so...unfortunately.”
The nurse stepped to his bedside. “What do you mean, unfortunately? Were you trying to get sick?”
Jim nodded. “You don’t understand...I can’t handle this! Take these restraints off...please!” Tears streamed down Jim’s face.
“No can do...it’s sounds like you’re suicidal. Psyche will have to give me permission to remove them and I can tell you straight up they won’t do it if they think you might try to hurt yourself.”
Jim closed his eyes and tried to will himself to die. He really was a failure, there was no denying it. He couldn’t even kill himself. He knew what he had to do. He had to get his act together to convince the psychiatrist that he was okay. He contemplated what he would say.
Jim’s face looked cheerful as the petite, Hitler-looking psychology assistant removed the restraints. Mr. Fetters had talked to Jim for over an hour listening to how he was just a little depressed. He seemed to be a nice man and Jim almost felt guilty for putting on such a charade. Well, you gotta do what you gotta do.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” the little man asked with real concern.
“Yeah...I was just feeling kind of depressed. Hell, if I really wanted to kill myself there are certainly quicker and better ways than to eat rotten food.”
Mr. Fetters chuckled. Jim thought that it was probably similar to how Hitler laughed. It must have been the man’s small structure and his thin, narrow cut mustache that reminded him of Hitler. Jim wondered where this man had been in his life.
“Okay, I’m sending you back to general population. If you start feeling bad or thinking bad thoughts, just go to the correction officer and tell him you need to talk to me. They’ll let you come over. Do you understand?”
“Yeah...yeah, I understand. Thanks for your help.”
Mr. Fetters smiled and handed Jim his pants and shirt. Jim took them and quickly got dressed.
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