Learning the Ropes

Gibson raised his head and found Sanders, A. standing over his bunk looking down into his eyes. Sanders, A.’s face was only inches above Gibson’s face. It was dark in the cell, almost black. To Gibson, Sanders, A.’s eyes looked like shiny florescent worms wiggling down upon him. Gibson was about to scream when Sanders, A. put a hand hard over his mouth.

Gibson found he could not scream. He could not breathe. And how did Sanders, A. get inside his cell? Gibson tried to swing his head, but still he could not breathe. He could not understand how his cell door was not locked—it was always locked; it was a cell-fucking-door!

Gibson had been in jail for three days. There was a lot he didn’t know, but he knew who Sanders, A. was, and he knew enough to stay away from him.

“Shsssssssss,” said Sanders, A.

Gibson stopped trying to move his head. He closed his eyes slowly and slowly opened them again. He tried to look like he was not about to scream anymore. He tried to look like a calm man simply waiting for the opportunity to breathe again. He gazed up into Sanders, A.’s eyes and wiggled his eyebrows, hoping the eyebrow-wiggle might convey the intended message.

“You listen,” Sanders, A. said. “Starting tomorrow, you going to give me yo apple at lunch time… It apple-day tomorrow. You understand?”

Gibson nodded.

“You can keep yo orange orange-day, but apple-day,” Sanders, A. pointed to himself.

Gibson nodded again.

"Don't tell anyone I was here."

Sanders, A. went to the cell door and the door was opened and then locked again. Sanders, A. disappeared into darkness.

Things might just work out here, Gibson realized. He smiled in the darkness. “I don’t even like apples.”

--300 Words--