Prisoner #56

Chapter 1

Well, I've been in prison for five years now. I still have a long way to go.

Until I die, that is.

Yet, when you are a shit Prius and a mass murderer like me, its ultimately what I deserve.

However, it hasn't been so bad. I mean, for being in prison I guess, which fucking blows. Even if I have a life sentence I must serve, I've at least got a great friend to serve it with.

My best friend, Marlin DuVall, a 1993 Pontiac Bonneville, is always by my side. He's a spunky and incredibly friendly sedan, who in a horrible place such as prison has a positive outlook on life and always has a smile on his face. He's the type of car that listens to way too much grunge music, and is stuck so deep in the 90's it can be impossible to pull him out of it at times. If you get him talking about Alice in Chains, a band he is madly obsessed with, he will not shut up. Believe me. I've had to listen to their music on repeat, multiple times. They're not bad, I guess, if I must hear anything played at nauseum.

Marlin and I are opposites in many ways and came from totally different walks of life. I know if we both weren't in prison, we would have never crossed paths. Marlin is from the West Coast, I'm from the East Coast. He grew up middle class, while I was filthy rich. Hell, he's a gas guzzler and I'm a hybrid. Years ago, that difference mattered to me, until I found out how to look past that, to see the true car underneath. And what is underneath Marlin's superficial gas guzzler exterior is amazing, something that is too good for prison.

We do everything together. From eating breakfast, lunch and dinner, to smoking, drinking and exercising in the recreation yard, we share this experience called prison. It's a shitty experience, but an experience nonetheless. The friendship I've developed with him, compared to any other car I have known in my life, has been the strongest, the deepest. Ever since he helped pull me out of my depression when I found out the truth about my past, that my stepfather who I looked up to and trusted murdered my father in cold blood, I feel as if I owe the world to him. If he needs me, I'll do anything for that Pontiac. Anything.

One morning during breakfast, Marlin and I were parked with our friends Ricky and Sebbie. A usual routine of our prison existence. It's like I'm constantly feeling deja vu. Anyway, as we were all talking, Ricky paused and quickly nudged Sebbie, looking his way.

"I'm still hungry. Come on, let's go grab something else to eat before the bell rings," Ricky suggested.

"Seriously? When are you not hungry, you oaf?" Sebbie joked, giving a short laugh. Ricky shot the Buick Grand National an unamused glance, but the two of them pulled away from the table anyway.

"Be right back!" Ricky exclaimed, him driving off with Sebbie.

After they left, it was just the two of us. I was gingerly drinking my coffee, reading a newspaper the guard we are buddy, buddy with, Albert, a Ford Ranger, gave to me. I then heard Marlin clear his throat suddenly.

"Hey, Shiloh," Marlin started, getting my attention.

I raised my eyes from my newspaper.

"Yeah?" I inquired.

"Um, so, instead of us going to the exercise group today during recreation like we usually do, can I speak to you, alone?" Marlin asked uncertainly.

When the other two were here, Marlin seemed fine, but now something in his face had changed. He looked worried. Marlin being worried and not happy go lucky is a pretty uncommon occurrence.

However, I've seen that face before, but only once. The last time I saw it was when Marlin was afraid that the warden was catching on to Albert smuggling stuff in for us. Luckily, we have Albert to back us on that. Thank Chrysler for Albert.