Stones' Diary: Built for Pressura'

Chapter 51.) Sympathizing over Anger

17-year-old Lucky

"Allen, forty-two," the guard taking roll called.

Standing by his cell ignoring the throbbing in his side, Lucky waited until roll call was over before he rushed into the cell and vomited.

"I told yo ass to let tha' nurse check you out after dat fight, bol," Robert said as he leaned against the wall staring at Lucky.

"I'm good," Lucky grumbled, rinsing his mouth out then lifted his thermal to inspect his bruises from the fight he got into two nights ago.

"Dat shit looks like it might be broken bol."

Ignoring him, Lucky stared at the large bruising on his ribs then shook his head. Lowering the sweater, Lucky limped toward his bed and sat down as he tried to get his breathing in order.

"Dawg, you needa get yo lick back for dat lame shit."

"Can you get tha' fuck out my face so I can think? Damn," Lucky fussed.

"Tryna help yo ass out, you know these old heads gon' keep fuckin' yo ass up until you pick a side."

Eyeing him, Lucky leaned forward, "Get tha' fuck from 'round me."

"Ard, gangsta," shaking his head, Robert walked away.

Laying back, Lucky placed the pillow under him and closed his eyes. Sleep found its way to him without a warning and before he knew it, it was supper time. It took Lucky a while to get up before he headed out of his cell and made his way to the cafeteria.

"You still tryna get a job in tha' kitchen?" Robert asked when Lucky joined him in line.

"I'm supposed to get my spot next week... but these fuck ass opps keep playing."

Robert shook his head, "You know what you gotta do."

"I'm tryna get my ass out of here, not add on more time. Spent my ass in'a hole last year, fuck dat shit," Lucky reminded as he grabbed a tray and plasticware before placing his tray on the display.

One of the cooks stared at him for a moment and Lucky quirked a brow, "Serve it up bol."

"They 'ont want you eating," he whispered.

Lucky sucked his teeth, "Dawg, stop fucking playing on my top."

"I'm not," he mumbled before placing the items on Robert's tray and turning away from Lucky as if he were invisible.

"Yo... on some real G shit, stop fuckin' playing with me," Lucky's voice rose.

"Bol come on... I'll share my shit with you," Robert nudged him forward as everyone looked their way.

"If you do dat, they'll starve you out too," the guy informed.

"Fuck dat shit," flipping the tray over, Lucky stormed away cussing up a storm.

Pissed that he had no money to even order himself anything, Lucky spent three days without food as guards pretended as if they had no idea what was going on. It didn't take long for beef to circulate the units, nor did it take long for guards to understand who was on a shit-list and it was clear Lucky was on it for not conforming as requested.

By the last roll-call, Lucky was laying in bed staring into pure darkness as he mentally plotted his revenge without getting extra time added. But his thoughts quickly ceased when his door clicked. Sitting up, Lucky's brows knitted as he grabbed his bandana and slowly hopped down from the bunk. Wrapping the bandana around his knuckles, he made his way toward the door but was shoved back into the wall by two big men.