MEGAN FOX, OMEGA SUPREME

Left to Die

    I can't explain the horror of that moment properly. The terror I felt...it washed through me, from the top of my head straight down to my toes. My face suddenly felt hot despite the cold. I tried to lean back, had to lean back before I toppled forward, and I immediately struck something solid. I spun to my right, which awoke the pain in my left arm and shoulder, and saw the gray brick wall behind me. Directly behind me. I looked forward again and realized a very horrible thing. A terrible thing.

    I could reach out and touch the iron bars of the prison from where I sat, which meant...

    My God!

    This place I was in, I was trapped in...

    Trying not to hyperventilate, I glanced to my left and then to my right, and then straight ahead again. Despite my confusion and fear, I did the calculations. Oh fucking shit! I can recall thinking. Because the cell I was sitting in was at the most, eight feet long lengthwise. But its width was a mere four fucking feet!

    It was basically a really long coffin turned on its side. And I was in it...somehow...

    I glanced through the bars and saw another gray brick wall just beyond the cell. Maybe six feet away, the corridor was wider than the damn cell. Looking up, I saw a row of small greasy looking windows through which, I couldn't see a thing. Well no, that's not exactly true. I could actually see snow piled against it outside. Yes, that's right. I suddenly recalled that it had been snowing when...when...

    When what?

    I exhaled and hugged myself. I was shivering violently now. God, it was cold. To the right of me that guy was still crying, and I couldn't blame him. Hadn't I been crying too? But why had I been crying? I seemed to remember...

    And then it all came back to me; the way it happens when you lose your car keys, or some money you'd hidden somewhere but forgot where you put it. When it finally comes back to you, you marvel at the notion you'd forgotten such an obvious thing in the first place.

    But it all came back, and I see her face. Her pretty pale face. Not pale only because she's Caucasian (or white, if you'd prefer--I don't, how many pale people aren't white or Caucasian?), but also because she's so drained. Not drained of blood, but simply tired. Tired as hell, I'd thought that night. And I now recall that she looked even more like Nicole Kidman in that Batman movie with Val Kilmer in it.

    But no. I really meant last night. I've only been in the cell for a few hours. The pain still throbbing on my left side says it's been much longer, but I know better. And I see her face....and I remember her smiling wearily at me. And that wasn't just because she was tired either. Some of that was because of the pity she'd clearly felt for me. Which made two of us. But I remember her asking me:

     "So, is there anyone you can call to come and bail you out?"

      And before I replied, I thought: This is a legal aid lawyer? Damn.