Wrong Place Wrong Time by Perlmutter David P

Author:Perlmutter, David P [Perlmutter, David P]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-06-04T04:30:00+00:00

CUPS AND ORANGES

The sound of jangling keys stirred me from my sleep and I opened my eyes to see the eight plastic cups lined against the concrete wall. I stared at the orange peel, now shriveled and dehydrated, and couldn't help but wonder if I looked the same. I certainly felt it. Don't they ever clean this shithole? I thought, pulling myself from the floor.

A burly guard with a nasty, toothless grin unlocked my cell door and took the familiar metal tray from his trolley, his short sleeved shirt exposing his thick, tattooed arms. A dragon traced its way from wrist to elbow on his left arm whilst a snake did the same on his right. I watched the brown and black scales of the snake move and twitch as he placed our food and drink on the floor before locking the door. We were his last call, and as he strode past the other prisoners he gave them all the same toothless stare.

The walls echoed as he slammed the heavy door behind him and turned the key. It had been four or five days but I still couldn't get used to that sound. I stood up and gingerly walked over to get my share, somewhat surprised that there was only one orange and one plastic cup. My first thought was that I'd have a fight on my hands and I looked around for my cellmate, preparing myself. But he was gone. Whether he'd been freed, moved or taken to court didn't interest me in the slightest — I really didn't give a shit and was glad to have the place to myself. I wondered when they'd taken him though, and tried to recall the previous few hours. Most of it was a blur; endless hours of nothingness interspersed with shouting and sleep.

I felt disorientated and weak as I made my way back to the corner of what was now my cell. My stomach was in a constant state of unrest, a combination of hunger and nervous anticipation about what the day would hold. Over and over, my head pounded with Carmela's words: "manslaughter and arson." Feeling sick I sat down, crossed my legs and peeled off the orange skin. Very slowly, one by one, I separated the segments. The longer I took eating the orange the further I was away from meeting the Judge at the Court House. "Manslaughter and arson." The words circled around my head.

The orange was sour and I spat most of it out along with the pips, firing them into the cups. The water was a welcoming taste though — even warm, it drowned out the bitterness in my mouth. I finished it in three gulps and placed the cup alongside the others. Nine plastic cups. Apart from Carmella, I hadn't spoken to anyone in days, so the only communication I'd had was with myself. At times I even spoke to the cups, and as stupid as it sounds now, I had a name for each one.

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