The Life Of A Ventriloquist

Journal Entry #21

I walked out of the shower after getting dressed and put my towel in the bin beside the exit door before walking out and walking to a big room with other prisoners and a few guards in it. After a few more men walked in, one of the guards finally put his hand up to silence the men talking in the room. He was holding a clipboard with a couple papers.

"Okay men," he began, "I'm going to read your last name and your cell number. If there's someone that has the same last name as you, I'll read your first initial. You're going to walk over here to Officer Tayley, and get your sheets, blanket, and pillow, and go to your assigned bunk out that right door right there." He pointed to the door to the right. "Got it? Good. Okay. T. Anderson."

He began naming off names and numbers and the men would walk over to the officer, pick up their supplies and walk out the right door.

I zoned out and his words just became a blur.

"McCalister, cell 23." The officer shouted. I walked to the other officer and got my stuff, instantly getting stares from the people that recognized me. I grabbed my things and walked out the door, being greeted by loud conversations. I walked up to an officer that was guiding other prisoners to their cell.

"What number?" He asked.

"23."

"Okay you're gonna wanna go to the 12th cell on the left, it'll say '23' on a metal sign on the top. That's you."

I made my way down the row of odd numbers and walked in to the cell, where I was welcomed to a man in a white tank top and the orange pants they gave him doing push-ups on the concrete floor. There was an extremely uncomfortable looking bunk bed sitting against the left wall, with drawers on either side of it, bars on the window and a metal toilet and sink in the left corner.

The man doing push-ups finally looked at me and jumped up.

"Well what's a puppet master like Adam McCalister doing in a shit hole like this?" He asked, looking at me head-to-toe. "When they told me I was getting a new room-mate, I can't say I was expecting this."

"That chapter of my life is over man. I'm not a little girl, I don't play with Barbies." I tried to sound as smug as I could.

"Fair enough. Top bunks yours. So is the drawers on the left." He said as he plopped on the bottom bunk and began reading a book. I put my stuff down and started putting the sheet on my bed.

"So what are you in here for anyway?" The man asked. I wasn't sure what to do. In prison are you supposed to tell them that, or just keep it on the down low?

"Woah, hold on there. You haven't even told me your name aye? Tell me that and why you're in here first, then maybe I'll spill." I didn't know prison lingo, I just went with the flow.

He gave me a small nodd and a half smirk.

"Well, names Carington. In here for illegal drugs and robbing two banks while intoxicated. Now you go. Already know your name, why you here?"

"Fair enough, Carington. I'm in here for killing my girlfriend, and torturing some random girl." He sat there for a minute, put his book down, sat up and looked at me like I was dome kind of crazy circus clown.

"What the hell possessed you to do that?" Funny he should mention the word 'possessed' considering that's pretty much exactly what it was. Some sort of possession. The fucking puppet, or rather what was in it. I scoffed amusedly and shook my head smirking, continuing to put my blanket on my bed, then my pillow. Carington continued to look at me for a couple more seconds then went back to what he was doing once he realized I wasn't going to be answering.

I laid down and dozed off, then was awoken by the banging of metal on the bars.

"Hey, is McCalister in here?" One of the guards yelled. Carington, who was sitting on the bottom bunk, just pointed up and the guard looked at me. I nodded.

"Come on, you're due for confrontation."

Oh lovely, I do so well with confrontation. I thought to myself. I hopped off the bunk and made my way to the guard. He opened the cell and I followed with, dreading what was about to happen.