Chapter 3 - Opposite of an Adult

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Payton

The fact that my nameless cellie hadn't killed me on my first night was a short lived celebration. I managed to get to my feet, at what i presumed to be an ungodly hour, for role call. It was still dark outside, no sign of the sun.

Cellie was already making his way over to the toilet. He undid his zipper and I heard a stream of urine hitting the toilet water. I sighed, remembering the lack of privacy in a two man cell.

After last nights pitiful dinner in the cell, it had been a restless night. Cellie hadn't spoke a word to me, merely ate the gruel presented to us. How he managed I didn't understand. Dinner was a single slice of cold turkey, defrosted mixed veggies, brownish mashed potatoes, a stale bread roll, a fruit cup, and tap water to drink.

I waited until he was finished before going down to use the toilet myself. "So where do I sit in the canteen?" I asked, breaking the tense silence. Micheal looked us as though he'd forgotten my existence. He looked at me with a mixture of amusement and confusion.

"What?" was his only response, chuckling slightly. He was preoccupied getting dressed.

"You know, when we get food. Where do I sit?" I repeated myself, not understanding what was so funny to him.

He looked like he was about to say something but quickly shut his mouth. "Stick with me kid." he said simply, finishing the buttons to his shirt.

The prison uniform was a light blue shirt with the prisons name on the back in large black letters. On the from was our inmate number. For the bottom half we wore knock off khakis, in beige, and then black sandals, which totally clashed with the semi decent outfit.

I simply nodded, fixing my own uniform before climbing back up to my bunk. "When's breakfast?" I tried to keep conversation going. Just because he had yet to murder me in my sleep thus far didn't mean he would do it. I had to get on this guys good side.

There was a long pause before he said anything. Without looking up at me he said, "You talk too much." . At that point the bell rang and inmates flooded the corridor on their way down stairs. "Stay close, and keep that mouth shut." he instructed and joined the unorganized queue on men. I quickly followed, not prepared to lose him and be forced the fend for myself.

Once in the food queue I took the time to look around a bit. Some men had already gotten their meals and were sitting white others grumpily walked around the area, moving with a certain swagger as though they were at complete ease.

"Get that dumb look off yo face." Cellie snapped me back to reality by elbowing me in the rib. It didn't hurt.

I turned to look forward. We were almost at the front so I could see the gruel we'd be eating. On each was two sliced of wheat bread, scrambled eggs, fruit, orange juice, brownish oatmeal and a single slice of pitiful looking meat product that they were passing off as ham.

I took the plate from the inmate behind the counter, giving him a curt nod which he didn't return. I followed cellie toward a table where a single man already sat, scooping the food into his mouth as though it were gourmet. Don't get me wrong, the food didn't taste bad. It didn't taste good either. It just tasted like plain nothing.

The man was look mature, maybe in his early forties. His hair was already showing grey. He was a muscular looking man, barely fitting his uniform. On the outside I was sure many women would want him. In here, many men I was sure feared him.

Cellie sat across from him, and I sat beside cellie.

"Mikey, who he?" The man asked after a solid minute of staring me down.

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