Sunday Photo Fiction 1-22-2017

191-01-january-22nd-2017

They changed the name of the City Prison to the County Hotel as if the prisoners were there for the pool and free breakfast. There was a free breakfast, but he really didn’t want it. He didn’t want it at all.

The windows scared the shit out of him. Cells, one on top of another and another, each faced by unbreakable two-way glass, allowing those outside, the Freers, to watch the inmates inside. Every action, every secret, every fist-stroke or caress, exposed.

He dropped his head back. You got out of County Hotel one way – dead. Unless a rich Freer bought you; flesh on the market.

What the hell had he done? Why hadn’t he kept his hands to himself?

The policeman, at the wheel, glanced back. “How old are you, son?”

“Sixteen.”

“Stupid shit.”

The car stopped in the long line of vehicles taking prisoners to their new home. A lock clicked, loud in the silence.

He bolted up, wiping away tears.

The policeman met his eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Don’t let me ever see you again, son, you understand?”

A moment passed. A look. A nod.

Pushing the door open, he ran.

And ran and ran and ran…….

11 thoughts on “Sunday Photo Fiction 1-22-2017

  1. not uncommon these days the things you wrote here. young people playing dangerous games with their lives but still a child when its time to be punished. thank you for such a compelling piece. it spoke volumes.

    Liked by 1 person

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