by Lisa Pellegrini
Think of all the food the prisons could give to the hungry and homeless if only they would deny people like me a final meal.
One more hour of sharing a cell with rats that are plotting my demise. Of listening to the guy in the next cell puking. He never could get used to the stench of turpentine and flesh.
Speaking of flesh, how could I mutilate Jimmy and Heather? Sure, I was pissed at him for stealing her from me. But did I have to leave their body parts in the elevator for Mrs. Oak to find? She suffered a heart attack and croaked. I suppose I killed her, too. But she was ninety-four. How much more time did she have left anyway?
The last time my mother visited, her stare was glassier than the material between us. I could read her thoughts on her pursed lips: “Jackass son of mine.”
I’m relieved that it’s almost over. I think about the shower attacks. The midnight beatings. I’m thirty-two, but those incidents make me feel seventy.
Okay, I’m done bitching. Time for me to—
“Mark? It’s seven-thirty! Final exams in one more hour.”
I roll over in bed and rub my eyes. Damn, I forgot to set my alarm. “Thanks, Mom!”
Too much partying. How will I ever get into college with my crappy grades and zero motivation?
As I walk out the door, I hear my mother mutter, “Jackass son of mine.”
8 comments:
nicely played, I like your writing style and your sense of sarcasm
Thank you, Lisa!
What a dream, and what a mother. Well done, Lisa.
Thank you, Deb. I am glad you enjoyed it.
Wow, talk about a twist ending. What a surprise. Such a dark dream, and what a relief that it was one. the visuals you paint of the dude in prison were great.
Thank you so much, C!
The self loathing carries over into REM. That's as bad as dreaming you've been at work all day and just as you get off you wake up and realize it's time to go in. Pretty cool.
Interesting way of looking at it. Thanks, Jonathan!
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