I've been staring at this wall and nothing but this wall for the last hour. I know every dent and every mark on it's cold gray surface. Six inches from my face. I lay curled in the feotal position. A subconscious defense against this hostile environment. I hear the feet clank down the hall. They stop outside my door. I hear them shuffle. I hear the catch on the door drop. Every sound is magnified by this cold gray paint. Six inches from my face.

"Lie facing the door"

Barks the voice. On the hour. Every hour. That's what they do. It's how they get their kicks. The light never goes off. They wake you every hour. They make you face your cell. They want to take away the only comfort you have. That cold gray paint. They want you to look into the empty cell before you. I mutter a general disapproval. The voice comes again. I turn over. I don't open my eyes. I will never look into that cell. Never. They will not take this away from me. I wait until the catch is raised again and the feet have shuffled off. I turn back to face the wall. I open my eyes. I feel comforted again.

Now I lie and wait. In one more hour they will come and wake me again. Every hour. On the hour. The light never goes off. This time I have come prepared. The cold gray paint comforts me no more. I seek a stronger, darker comfort. A comfort that is eternal. Something to embrace me for ever more. I bring my knees to my chest and feel inside the leg of my jeans. I pull out the razor blade. Holding it tight against my wrist I draw it all the way across. I feel a warmth spill onto my lap. I repeat the motion on the other wrist. I stand up and scrawl some letters on the cold gray paint. Cold no more. Gray no more. Feeling weak I sit slumped on the floor. Facing the cell. My eyes roll back into my head. I am slipping away now. I think about that cop who will be here in an hour. On the hour. I think about him finding me here. The last place I ever knew. The last place I ever felt anything. This empty cell. This cold cell. All alone. Remembered only by those who want to torment and destroy me. "I know why Jesus wept, motherfucker." I think about him waking up every night. Every hour. On the hour. His light will never go out.

back