T-PAIN
"Block E and F: I am Commander Beckett. You'll be reporting to me every day until the headquarters are complete."
Beckett is cruel but in ways so subtle you couldn't find a way to blame him. His unsmiling features made him seem constantly disappointed and dissatisfied. Occasionally, when he flicks a nonchalant gaze at us I can imagine him drawing a gun and shoot, unflinching as the bullet escapes the barrel. It's pretty effective. Fear is a good motivator.
Becoming a tradie was never an option for me. I know how necessary labour is to literally everything we do, but forgive me for saying that it's just not for me.
But you know that funny little thing life does where it gives you the exact opposite to anything you declare? In short: I am a tradie.
I lie in my bunk, accustoming myself to the stench of sweat and the uncanny dampness of Block E. You never realise how cooped up and small this cell is until you go outside for a bit. I miss it already. It seems that I always have, from the moment they threw me behind these bars.
I hear a plane pass overhead. So close yet so far away.
It's okay. I have something to look forward to tomorrow.
