Bruises. •Phan•

8.7

Mr. Howells POV
(4 months later)
Dead.
I want him dead.
"Mr.howell, lunch time"
Ever since I got in this damn dreadful dead beat place I have been wanting to kill myself.
After lunch hour I went to a cell mate down the hall.
"Mr.Howell I presume" a man in an orange jumper spoke.
"Yes. Do you have anything to kill a man?" I asked knowing that he stuck chemicals up his ass and smuggled them in this prison.
"You know I do, first I must ask, are you killing me?"
"No."
"Well then, what kind would you like? I have slightly painful, no pain and 'oh my god I want to rip my throat out and sell it on the black market' pain,"
"Last one please"
"Yes sir,"
He handed me a needle with blue liquid filling the plastic cylinder.
Now, all there is left to do is wait another month.