Confinement

Chapter 1

"How'd you end up in this shit hole?" asked my cell mate. I look around thinking of an answer, I barely know anything about this guy. The pale yellow metal walls make the dull lifeless cell of juvie even more depressing.

"I was walking home from the milk bar. I had a bit to drink." I start sweating.

"Yeah, then what?" I hear my cellmate ask.

"A guy came around the corner. He was pissed off because his girlfriend just dumped him, I think I heard him say, he was murmuring. He asked me if I had any ciggies." I'm starting to relive this day again, it's fresh in my memory still, it happened about a month ago but the court case took so long. Why couldn't I just have gotten therapy and community service? Why did I have to end up here?

"Yeah, so he asked for ciggies, did you give him some or what?" Man, my cell mate is pushy, continuously asking me about that god damn day.

"I told him that I didn't and he started to get heated. This guy was asking for it, he stepped towards me and I panicked," as I say this, I can hear my voice shaking. "In my drunken haze we must have got into a fight, I remember my knuckles hurting, blood was coming from his nose." I've never said this to anyone before. Why now? Why to this person that I have no clue about?

"Jesus dude, so you like, killed someone? I'm confused. What happened after you punched him?" My cellmate really wants to know. I'll tell him the basics from this point on. I start thinking about that day again. What happened after I punched him? Oh crap, I remember now. Next thing I know is that I'm dragging his lifeless body from the footpath onto the grassed area. After dropping his body, I laid there with him. My life over his. His eyes were once filled with rage, somewhat with passion. Now they looked soulless, his brown eyes reflecting my soul. I got up and left in a hurry. You'd think I wouldn't have told anyone?

"I went to the police straight away, I didn't want to be in even deeper shit. I told the police, described everything as best I could. I was in a daze of panic and distress. The police didn't seem convinced at first but once they saw me shaking and crying, they assured me that I wouldn't go to jail. I believed them. I was too young to be jailed for manslaughter. I ended up in here." I say this while shaking. Why did I do this? I just told some guy I just met that I killed someone. What's wrong with me?

"Why are you here?" I questioned my cell mate

"My story is nothing like yours mate. I was at the wrong place at the wrong time, and a couple friends were shooting themselves up when the police came." He starts laughing when he mentions the police. "The judge doesn't like degenerates," he proclaimed. "We're going to be in here for a while. What's your name?"

"Me? I'm Nam Lethargus. You can call me Argus for short. What about you?" As I say this I walk over towards the small glass mirror that we're allowed in this juvie cell. I see my short brown hair, oily because we only get to have a shower every three days. My blue eyes are bloodshot from the lack of sleep I've been getting. My pale white skin sweating as there is no heating or cooling in this stupid cell. As I start to walk back to my paper thin bed I hear my cellmate speak.

"Okay Argus, I'm Ice which you could say is ironic because of my circumstance." We both laugh at this. Ice and I look nothing alike. He has a short black afro, dark skin. I'm much taller than he is, he comes up to about my shoulders but I'm tall and kind of lanky; he's short and looks strong.

Its late morning now. I'm waiting for the guards to come and let us out so we can stretch our legs. Breakfast was as bland as it always is. Plain toast with a glass of milk. I wish I was home, I wish I could wake up to the smell of eggs and bacon not the smell of stale dust and rust. Wake up and see my baby blue walls, my action posters and pictures of my friends and family instead of the faded yellow bricks and metal bars.

"Ice, How long have you been in here for?" as I say this I'm scared, I'm not sure if its etiquette to ask this? Is it like asking people how much money they make? As all these thoughts are going through my head I'm interrupted.

"Eight months. I'm appealing for parole soon though, I might actually get some freedom," Ice said this with a smart ass tone. Eight months? Is that a long time or is that standard? Bail? When can I apply for that?