If A Tree Falls…
A tale of the dark corners and empty-ish hallways of prison.
Everything went dark. He was almost relieved to feel his face hit the cool concrete — he could still feel — it was a consolation. As his face warmed the spot of concrete, the pain rushed back. He could feel the stinging at his wrists, hot metal slowly pinching the skin, if he wriggled too far one way or the next, it cut straight through. His palms were becoming numb from the tightness, He could feel a dull ache about his body, but especially his rib cage. And then, the first baton, a foot to the head, fists about the body — he steadied his breathing into that warm spot of concrete and closed his eyes. If he were to die today, he wouldn’t allow his mind to die in this place.
Flashes of his daughter, his sisters, mother and all of his past lovers scrolled through his mind like in the viewfinder toy his mom bought him in 1985. It was red with a thick black rim around the eyes. He had all the latest toys and freshest clothes, then. Not now, though, now he was getting the shit kicked out of him by disgruntled guards and there was nothing fine toys or clothes could do to fix it. The pictures kept flashing. They were coming faster and faster. Less like a leisurely stroll down memory lane and more like a video on fast forward — a hastening march toward an obvious death. The comfort of feeling was…
