Tragic

Chapter One: Freedom

Six years. Two thousand, one hundred, and ninety one days. How many hours is that you ask? Fifty two thousand, five hundred and eighty four hours. I spent six whole years of my life paying for a crime I did not commit. I spent six years dodging prison attacks and trying to survive the beatings that guards gave me when others weren't looking. Surprisingly, Derek has plenty of friends that will do anything to avenge his sister. I lived hell for six years, and now it was my turn to give hell right back to the man from the accident. I just had to figure out where he was, right? Really, this was going to be harder than I initially thought. I don't know his name, I don't know where he lives, and I don't know a single thing about what he does with his life. All I know is his voice, and possibly the car he drives. I could make something out of that, couldn't I?

The sound of a nightstick against the bars shook me from my thoughts, but I should've known better than to jump at the sound. There weren't any beatings today, or any attempts at killing me. They were setting me free, and though I felt the need to tell them it was a bad idea to let an angry animal out of its cage I let them make the mistake. The guard set my change of clothes down on the bed and looked me up and down with a shake of his head, one I knew all too well. He was going to miss the late night therapy sessions, in which he told me his problems and took them out on me with a few good swings of the black nightstick stuck to his belt. I can't tell you how many times I thought of strangling him, but prison does that to people. It turns the innocent into monsters, and that's what I've so graciously become. A monster with a hunger for revenge.

The jeans I had arranged for my release didn't fit anymore, but were now instead a couple sizes too large, an obvious sign I was no longer a healthy young teenager. At twenty two and five foot eight, I weighed one hundred and thirty pounds. It was skinny, as you can imagine, but it wasn't a fragile weight either. I had worked my ass off these past six years to create myself over again for one purpose, to survive this harsh environment. My Simple Plan t-shirt still fit, but it was like a tent around me. If Sarah could see me she'd ask whether the circus was in town, because she was always into those cheesy jokes. I laced up my running shoes and pulled my long brown hair back into a bun, nodding to the guard that I was now indeed ready to go.

George Poe was his name, I recall hearing it a few times while in the cafeteria. He never spoke to me unless he knew we were alone, and it was always something about how shitty his life is and how he'd kill to start over. It's a wonder how I got stuck with him on the cell block, because I wasn't really a large threat to people around me but the judge insisted on putting me in the red zone. George oversaw the high priority danger girls and I guess he took a special liking to me. He's nearly six foot tall, and built pudgy as you'd expect from a man who hasn't actually seen the dangerous side of prison. The only exercise I think he gets is swinging the nightstick around. With graying hair and a white flecked beard, it was quite possible he could be seen as approaching fifty, though I knew better. This man was in his mid forties with three kids who don't appreciate what he does for them. Not only that, but his wife thinks she made a mistake with him. You learn a lot from listening to him go on and on.

He led me down the hall, women behind bars whooping and calling out to me as their hands slipped past the bars in efforts to try and grab me. It's a routine for anytime somebody gets out of here, and George made no effort to lead me away from their rough grasp. We rounded the corner and I spotted my lawyer up ahead, the Weasel herself. She was way out of her element here, but certainly in a place she belonged after all the dirty deals and bribery. I passed through the metal detectors and the woman standing guard gave me the rest of my things. Twenty bucks and my drivers license. The girl in the picture barely resembled me, besides the brown hair and eyes. My once rounded face was now ruined with scars, and my nose was now slightly crooked from repetitive breaks. Everything was different now, I wasn't a happy sixteen year old without problems.