Colton Jace slowly dragged the gray, cold piece of concrete against one wall of his prison cell which was covered with other lines just like that one, all in groups of five. Four vertical lines, and one horizontal line across them. There had to be at least twenty-three of those five lines spread out all across one wall diagonal to where his cot was.
The cell Colton got stuck with was small. Three stone walls, and one cell gate with a small metal pad where the guards would insert a key to unlock the gate, then it would slide to the side on its track. Not now, though. Not tonight. It would only be a matter of time before he fell asleep. As he thought that to himself, Colton yawned.
Murder. Sent to jail for murder. It has been 115 days in jail--prison, if you will. He was put before a jury, doing his best to explain that he was defending himself; he didn't intend to kill that man. But one thing lead to another. Before Colton could realize what he had done, pedestrians were holding him down, red and blue lights were flashing and he was cuffed.
There were twelve other cells on the floor he was on, and ten of them were occupied. Colton never talked to any of the other inmates for some reason. He didn't belong here with them--he was a good person! Yet the more he thought that thought the more he denied it.
The more time he spent locked up in this prison--in this cell--the more he believed he belonged here. With them.
Other murderers.
