Domesticating Green

The Destination

He took another deep breath of the stagnant air. Slowly, he exhaled, "Clear your head man," he thought to himself. He focused on the destination. Straight down the hall, make a left, straight a bit more then a right. Straight, left, straight, right. Straight, left, straight, right. Straight, left, straight, right. Str-

Doug coughed.

He glanced at the officer to the left of him, across the giant fleshy, expanse of a chest directly in the middle of them. Doug looked pretty pink, and he was sweating profusely.

"Am I sweating?" slyly he reach up and scratched his hair under his hat. No, he wasn't sweaty. He was a better actor than Doug then. Or at least he hoped so. Maybe his face was red as well? Or maybe his eye was twitching, it did that sometimes when he was stressed. His momma said that's how she always knew he was lying. He tightened his jaw, it didn't feel like his eye was twitching.

The man inbetween Doug and he sniffled, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand. Oh, God, the man wasn't crying, was he? Should he look? He really didn't want to look.

He looked from the corner of his eye. Tears were falling over the man's scruffy cheeks, it looks like he hadn't shaved in days. His blue eyes were bloodshot red, the tears obviously not helping with the irritation. Maybe the man got something in his eyes? The hall was pretty dusty, the cleaning crew always cut corners when it came to dusting. Maybe he should offer the man some Claritin? Didn't he put the packet in his pocket after break? Or did he leave it in his locker? His hand brushed against his pocket. Yup, he definitely left it in his locker.

The group turned left.

It's probably just a well, he couldn't offer the prisoner unprescribed medication. He would get in trouble with the Warden. Again. He should just ignore the man and his tears. It was his own fault anyways. It was always their fault.

He focused on the route ahead of him again. The muted, soft green that looked a lot more like puke than the "Cotton Candy Green," the color swatch proclaimed it, filled his vision. Both the floors and the cinder block walls were painted the color. It also made him a bit nauseous at times.

He fought the urge to hum to cover the sound of the chains swaying melodically with every step the prisoner took. It swung in between his legs every time he put a foot forward, clinking softly, rather like a kitten's meow. Soft but high pitched.

They took the right.

They were here now. The group stood in front of a steel door painted "Cotton Candy Green." another guard behind him cleared his throat, he glanced back. The guard made the motion of putting a key into a lock, turning his hand in the air. Oh right, the key.

He fumbled around in his pocket for a moment before grasping the slippery copper key. He stuck it into the lock, turning it, just like the guard behind him mimed. The group stepped through the door.

There was a giant glass window, blurry faces sat in a couple of rows of fold out chairs. In the middle of a room was a the chair. Though it rather looked like a bed, if he said so himself. One of those beds you'd find in a crazy house. Cut out like a body. Arms and leg potions separate from the body part. A doctor and a priest stood behind the chair. There has to be a joke for that. Where did he hear that joke from? It was rather long, and thought out, so it was one of his smarter friends...Was it Billy? Bill K or something or another, right? Billy from college. Ah, he remembers now. They were three sheets to the wind drunk, and talking about their government and law class. Billy was always the smartest out the the bunch. What's he doing now? Isn't he a lawyer?

The man was shuffled to the chair/bed, face downwards inspecting his shoes as though he never seen a pair before. He took the chains off the man after Doug strapped him in. The man laid there with his eyes closed, he looked a bit purple. Was he even breathing anymore? The man's chest swelled with air before rushing back out through his nose. He was breathing still.

The man bit his lip as the doctor approached with the needle, attaching the syringe to the tube that went into the man's flesh. A clear liquid, it kind of looked like water, climbed up the tube, disappearing into the skin. The man went rigid, and then, as if he had fallen asleep, all his limbs relaxed.

"You alright man?" Doug's hot breath whispers against his ear.

"Y-yeah. I'm good," he nodded quickly, looking down at his shoes, inspecting them as if he never saw a pair before.