Werewolf on Death Row

Four: I am Never Doubting Squeaky Shoes Again.

I peer into the plastic container, daring it to try and prove to me that this isn't really, really bad.

I only have four pills left.

That's enough to last me two days - or four if I really try to stretch it. Which is also definitely not a good idea. I knew that I was running low, but I had no idea I was this close to running out entirely. Guess this means I have to go to the nurse's office. Fun.

I can't go now though. One of the many joys of a name ending in Y is that alphabetical order dictates you're always last, and so by the time I get through stupid Mate Selection it's close to lunch time.

I take one, stuff the bottle back into it's hiding place, slam the drawer shut and stomp over to my bed. I really wanted to go for a walk today, or see if I could find more CDs in the equipment shed or something. Now I bet my whole afternoon will be spent sneaking down the the medic quarters without being seen by other inmates. In squeaky-ass shoes.

There's a knock on my door. It's Jim, still trying to act like this isn't a prison and he doesn't have complete power over my existence and isn't the one who actually has the key to the door. That or he's trying to give me some semblance of dignity. Either way, it's a very Jim thing.

"Yep," I call out. He's been trying to get me to talk more for ages, but I haven't overstepped my bounds since my first few nights here. Surprisingly, I was never much of a talker, even when I was younger. Silence is key.

Shifting so I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, I grudgingly reattach the bloody shoes to my feet. "Lunch," he calls back. Great. Just what I need. 45 minutes in a room with people who seem to really like getting on my nerves, eating what can barely be described as food, with a looming crisis hanging over my head.

Stepping outside, silver cuffs quick to snap around my wrists, Jim and I head off to the cafeteria in silence.... apart from those goddamn squeaky shoes.

When I step inside, the cafeteria is unusually animated. Excitement isn't exactly common in here, so if I was more curious I'd probably want to know what the fuck is going on. Heck, I still wanna know, but if it means talking to people I think I'd just rather stay ignorant.

Still though, I can't help but notice that all the noisy jabbering, the laughter and the muttering, quiets down as I pass each table before soaring back to its original volume once they're sure I'm out of earshot. Looks like I'm not invited on the crazy train. And I say crazy because there are two White collars dancing with a Gang member in the middle of the room.

Grabbing the 'meal' of the day - leathery steak with soggy veggies fresh from a container and reheated in a microwave - before sitting down in my usual corner. Again the chatter hushes until it's clear I'm not going to start interrogating anyone. I chew mechanically, considering what route would be least populated from my cell to the nurse's, and stare into space. At one point, the chair one table over from me gets knocked flying as two teens chase each other around the room, sending the guard on duty scrambling after them. It's truly chaos in here.

I'm just trying to figure out if the guard office is on the northeast or the northwest corridor when I become aware that someone's now sitting across from me. McGraph is lounging there lazily like he owned the place, one elbow on the table, his fingers snapping incessantly -

"Anyone in there? York, ya home?"

"Yes?" I reply curtly, irritated by his sudden presence. It's been a few weeks since I punched him, and he hadn't even glanced my way. I wouldn't be surprised if he had listened to the pretty dark haired girl - Laina, I think her name is - and chosen to stay far away. The thought hurt more than I was willing to admit, but I knew fully well it was foolish to get close to anyone, especially here.