Thousands

The Cold

It was cold. It is always cold. They never bother to turn on the heat in here, only when blizzards happen. Not often enough, in my opinion. So, no matter what I think about, what I remember, there's always that feeling. The crisp air, grabbing onto your lungs and making those 10 years of smoking a hell of a lot worse for you.
I stare out, every so often. I crawl to my bars, clutching them like a hold clutching the gates to their crib, and i stare down the hall. It's like every time, I think I'll see something else. Open fields, or a busy city street just waiting for me. Or even a door, slightly cracked open that's just outside my cell. I reach for it, like I can maybe just barely grab onto it and open the door to see what's on the outside. Maybe so I can see what's become of the world. It didn't matter in the moment, I just wanted to see it. See the world again.
But then I snapped back to reality, with the guards screaming at me to put my damn hands back in the cell or he'll kick my ass, and Esquire 3 cells down singing some old timey song nobody knows, but he doesn't care and belts it out anyways.
Then I go back, slump against my wall, and imagine freedom. But that vision always is interrupted by the endless lines of prison cells, lined up one after another. Thousands of them, going into the darkness. Thousands.

Today's song of choice happened to be an old favorite of Esquires. Or so I assumed. Being close to 80, I wouldn't put dimensia past him.
"It's all Ooover, but the crying!" He sang, horribly out of tune.
"Fuck up, Esquire!" A voice wailed from farther down the hall.
My cell happened to be up close to the gaurd station. Officer Mathews was dozing, but his partner in crime (or justice, should I say?), McCready, was always itching to get mad with us.
"OY!" He boomed, with his slight Scottish accent peaking out. "No fucking yelling! You don't want me to take you out of yer cage and beat the shit out of you, now do you?"
There was a momentary silence, and McCready seemed content with that, so he sat back down to read his "book".
I heard a heavy metal door open far away from me, followed by 2 sets of footsteps clicking on the linoleum.
"We got a Tyler Finch here?" a rough voice asked. I recognized it as Officer Murdock. He never bothered to learn names, though he saw us every day.
"That'd be that one, Murdock." McCready muttered, not looking up. He jammed his thumb in my general direction.
I didn't bother to see who it was with him, but the footsteps shuffles to my door. "You got 5 minutes, kid", Murdock told him, and trotted off.
It took a moment for my visitor to speak. I could feel his eyes probe me, analyzing me as a whole.
"Your skinnier." They said.
Ah, so it's him. Never thought he would show up here. Hell, it's taken this long.
"Jail does that to people. But I wouldn't recommend coming here for a diet." I responded, my voice sounding empty.
He scoffed. "All this time, and you still think your that damn funny."
"What, am I not entertaining?" I pondered. "I'm sorry, I haven't had a chance to practice my routine. You know, being in jail in all."
"Fuck you." He spat.
I stood up, shuffling to my bed. "Don't talk to me like that. I'm still your father." I exerted.
He laughed out loud, his voice echoing on the walls of the prison. "Sorry, Dad. I'm upsetting you aren't I? I've been a bad boy. Hell, I've been so bad, you might even start having to be a parent."
I gritted my teeth. "Look, we both know why that didn't work out."
"Do we?" He asked, raising his voice. "I must have missed the memo. I'm still not sure why I saw you once a year, when you were either high as a kite, or coming down."
"Look, Josh..."
"Don't fucking start with me." He growled. "I didn't come here to get lectured by my 'Father'"

"Then why are you here?" I questioned, not meeting his gaze.
There was a pause, with the faint sounds of someone tapping their foot to an unbearable tune.
"Why'd you kill her, Dad?" He asked, his voice quiet.
I looked up at him. For a moment, I saw a child, with innocent eyes, wondering about why Daddy was being so silly.
"I didn't kill her, son." I whispered, shuddering.
"Bullshit." He stated matter-of-factly.
"I beg your pardo-"
"Bullshit!" He screamed.
He fell silent for a moment, and his face looked again like that little boy I once knew. But then it went away, replaced by a hardened mask of a man I didn't know.
"Forget it. I don't even know why the fuck I came." He said, shaking his head. "You can sit here until you die. Have a nice life behind bars."
He turned from
My bars, and walked towards the exit. I could hear his shoes clicking on the floor, getting further and further away, before that metal door opened and slammed shut. I walked slowly to the wall, leaning face first against it. I felt the emotions all hit me at once. The anger, the frustration, the sadness. Everything I keep away, locked up tight, it was working its way back out.
In all the ruckus, I hadn't noticed Esquire was singing again.
"It's all over, but the crying!" He bellowed. "And I can't get over, cryying oveeeeerr yoooooooou!"
Why is it always so damn cold in here?