To be Pretty in Prison

Intro

A life sentence... at 27 years old.

Possible Parole after 30 years.

All for some stupid bar fight and no money to buy a decent lawyer.

My only defence had been, "I was too drunk to remember any of it."

Surprisingly, the jury didn't buy into that one.

I'd felt like Prison had been heading my way all my life. Guess I thought I'd have a little more time to live before that happened.

I kept my face emotionless through the entire entry process, from being transported in chains; to being shoved out of the van onto a frozen gravel path which led towards an intimating fortified grey prison; to being stripped, searched, cleaned with a cold hose and then searched again in places I didn't want a stranger searching. I was given clothes, told to hold up my name and prison number for a depressing photo and then shoved outside and chained Into another white Van.

My face  seemed hardened and stern, however I had some training as an actor, that mask wasn't real and I had no idea how long it would last.

I was loaded into the front of the truck in Orange prison kakis and a jean jacket as the only protection against the winter chill. A handful of other guys, most looking like they wanted to cry for their Mam's, and the rest seemingly just as depressed as I was, were pushed in behind me by intimidating Guards. I kept my head down and waited, something I doubted would be so easy for the rest of my sentence.

"That all of 'em Leon?" My eyes were forced up at the sweet sound of a Geordie accent, we were on the outskirts of London, I hadn't expected to hear that sound ever again.

"You're a Geordie?" I crocked out, my voice still hoarse from not talking for the past week and rough from the crying every night.

"Last time I checked." The driver smirked whilst sitting back in his seat behind the wheel with a little flourish. I shifted my gaze to the rear view mirror and studied the sandy-brown haired man's face. He must've been about my age... maybe younger, he was handsome, with soft pleasing features and green-blue eyes that were animated as he let them navigate through the heavily fenced area.

I had assumed he was a guard, it was an obvious solution and he certainly didn't look like the criminal type. So I was more than surprised to spy that tucked beneath his woolly scarf was a prisoner badge, just the same as mine only I couldn't read the name from this distance. My eyes widened, I looked closer and realised he was wearing beige khakis, more inconspicuous than my orange ones.

"You're an inmate?" I asked unintentionally.

"Actually I'm a human being." He sassed back, "But yeah I don't wear khakis just to make my ass look cute."

"They let you drive the Van?"

"Only because they can pay me 10p an hour for it." He shrugged, "I like a change of scenery anyway. Besides, being a pint sized Geordie, to the guards I'm considered 'nonthreatening'." The small man explained casually and I had to stifle a chuckle when I realised he was sat on a cushion to gain that little extra height over the steering wheel.

"Is it easy to get a job like that?"

"Everyone gets assigned to something, the good jobs come after a few years of good behaviour or if you've got special skills." I found myself relaxing slightly as I talked to the brown haired man, he seemed far too cheery to be in a prison but I appreciated he was atleast willing to talk to me. Any guys I'd crossed so far had either just glared at me or told me to 'shut the fuck up' so this was friendly. "You got any special skills fish?"