Extremity

6 | Damien

There's this guy sitting in my spot.

He's your typical inmate. Huge and burly, bald head, muscular arms filled with tattoos in all sorts of languages and designs. And he just so happens to be sitting in my spot.

You see, I like to sit in the same spot everyday. During breakfast I sit in the front, closer to the door. For lunch I usually sit by the middle against a wall. At dinner I sit in the way back, so I can get a good look at everyone.  So today, for breakfast, I walked in, grabbed my rusty tray full of watery porridge and sludgy coffee, and took one look to realize my usual spot was taken.

Now, I've been here for about a month, so people know me. Not like know know me, but they know of me. That one guy with the white hair. If they've heard well, that one guy who likes to run around schools with guns. So it surprised me that someone, especially this guy, was sitting in my spot.

I walk up behind him, staring at his back. He's sitting alone, staring at the long line of pissed of people waiting for breakfast. He's too large for me to peek and see if he's still eating or not, but he's not really moving. Just staring ahead.

I use Plan A.

I clear my throat.

Nothing. He just stares.

I cough.

Nothing. He just stares.

I'm hungry. I want to sit and enjoy my shitty breakfast in peace.

Guess I'll have to go with Plan B.

"Excuse me," I say in my most calm voice. I watch as he turns his head but doesn't turn around to look at me. "You're sitting in my spot."

Nothing. He turns his head away. I watch his arm move, probably to spoon more glop down his throat. I can feel my heart rate pulsing, blood pounding in my ears. I want to punch him in the back of the head so hard he sees stars but I can't get into any more trouble. I don't want any more trouble. Can I help it if I just want to eat in peace???

"There's plenty of empty tables around here," I say, gesturing around, even though he's not looking at me. "Why don't you take a seat elsewhere?"

Then, he speaks. "Exactly," he grunts out in a deep, scratchy voice. "There's plenty of other seats. Now go sit your ass down in one before I shove you in one." All while staring directly ahead.

Oh, this guy thinks he can threaten me, is that it?

I laugh loudly, attracting the attention of many other inmates standing around us. "You know, for a second there, I thought you were actually threatening me," I say. I set down my tray at a table behind me, despite it already being occupied, and walk over to face the big burly bastard. He has a pudgy nose and a mean look to him. Not to mention a black eye. Guess he's seen his share of violence as well.

"Please get out of my seat."

He just stares at me, then gently sets his spoon down. "You don't wanna be messin' with me, Isadore," he says lowly.

"You messed with me first," I reply. "You sat in the wrong seat."

"What's it to you?"

Argh, why don't people get it?? Is it a crime to want to have some consistency??? Maybe that's why our society is so messed up, because people are so damn erratic!!!!!

"Maybe I just want to have a routine," I say calmly, clenching my hands into fists. "You know, doing things the same everyday? It's kind of a normal thing to do, buddy. Please get out of my seat."