Yeein' On That 'Haw

Interlude: Parole

 If there was one thing I had always prided myself on, it was my attitude and behavior. Unless I was with someone I was comfortable with, I never talked back, never raised my voice, and always did what I was told. It got me a lot of special treatment when I was in school: I could cheat on assignments and never get caught, forge my parents' signature on things and never be questioned, and generally get away with a lot of shit I wouldn't have gotten away with if I were as outspoken as some of the popular kids.

My good behavior got me nowhere in prison. It got me walked all over by other prisoners, beaten up on by COs, and taken advantage of by all kinds of ilk. It wasn't fun, but I stuck to it. I was a good person at heart, despite having, y'know... robbed a museum and shot an officer. I was going to be nice, damn it. And I was. And it sucked.

Looking back on it now, being a selfish asshole likely would have made prison a lot easier to deal with. But I'm one stubborn bastard, and I did not want to leave that place any more of an asshole than I was before I stepped foot through those doors, coated in my own blood and the blood of a police officer, riddled with glass shards, and with several broken bones.

Though I suppose being nice got me one thing: out of prison. I was sentenced to six years– rather light for what I did, I know, but I got an incredibly generous judge and a damn good lawyer. Two years in, and whaddya know, I got out on parole for good behavior. I wasn't allowed to use any controlled substances, own firearms, or leave the state, but I was out. See, being nice does help out sometimes!

The first thing I did when I got out of there was look in a mirror. It was the sun-visor mirror in my mom's car, but it did its job. I had looked in a mirror that very morning, but I could never get too close to it for fear of seeing something I didn't want to see. The mirrors were also far too occupied at any given time, and I didn't want to be jumped for looking at my own reflection. I swear, people would get jumped for literally any reason in there.

I immediately noticed something different: my eyes. While, yes, they were the same color, and the same shape, and overall the same eyes, the light in them had dimmed. I was still me, but I had been changed. I wasn't sure if I could ever go back to what I was before, but I would sure as hell try.

Getting therapy was the easy part. Some turned me away for my new status as a former prisoner of the state, but I eventually found one who was willing to take me. Her name was Linda– she was a tall, skinny black lady in her forties with the kindest eyes and the brightest smile. I remember loving Linda with all my heart. She listened, and she understood me despite my glaring flaws and the inherent traumas that came with having lived in a constantly hostile environment for two years.

Once I felt I was safe in my own bed again, I had something bigger I had to deal with. I had to find (Y/N). They had completely vanished the night I was arrested, right after they had been screaming in abject agony and clutching their head as if it were about to fall off. The moment had been haunting me every waking moment for two years. I didn't know if they were dead, but I did know that they were considered missing, as well as a wanted criminal.

I had to go back to that museum. As much as I really didn't want to, as it reminded me of times that I would have rather forgotten about, I had to do something. Guilt was swiftly eating away at my body, and if I didn't track down at least something that aided in the search for my friend, I feared it would swallow me whole.

Much to my dulled shock, the museum had closed. Completely shut down. Although, I suppose I should have expected that. It was the lamest tourist attraction in the city. Its brick structure had begun to crumble, and the bright red awning that I remembered falling off had been torn apart many hurricanes ago. Most of the windows were shattered, but I still recalled the exact one I dove out of. Good times. Not really, actually. Not good times.