WICKED TALES

SIX

Day One:

I was sentenced to life in prison for killing my wife and three children. I don't know why I did it, something just snapped deep inside of me. To make matters worse I burned down our home with them inside. It wasn't any hiding or no getting away since I was caught in front of our fire ridden home with a gas can and matches. So now here I am locked away from society for good. Probably for the best.

The first day of imprisonment was a shock to the system. I had to get used to being told what to do and when to do it. Two sets of grey sweatpants and shirts were issued to me along with bedding and cell number. I was no longer Daniel Kurtz, I was prisoner one dash two one three three one three.

After following all the prisoner intake procedures, I was now being led by a beautiful woman who looked very similar to my deceased wife to a cell I would be calling home. Cell number four two two opened after the guard's request and I stepped in. A huge white man stood from the lower bunk and towered over me. His head was shaven clean, he was very muscular, stood at least six foot nine, and was covered in tattoos. The look in his eyes told me that I was going to have to fight him and as soon as the door closed we went at it.

Day Five:

It has been almost a week and I think I have this prison shit down. Every race stuck with one another and as long as I stayed to myself I wouldn't get into any trouble. My cellmate on the other hand didn't make it out of the cell alive. After the door to the cell closed on my first day here, we fought like wild animals. I lost it, I don't know how I got the upper hand on him but once I did I stomped the back of his head until he wasn't moving. I had nothing to lose anyway so I made it a point to send a message through him that I was not to be fucked with. The downfall was that I'm locked in solitaire now for thirty days. I don't know, I think I like the loneliness.

Day Ten:

I woke up drenched in sweat and confused about where I was but only for a moment. I looked around the dark cell and it all came back to me. I was still locked up and worse I was still in solitary confinement. I wiped my face with my shirt and was relieved to know I was having a nightmare. It felt so real. I was having coffee with my wife as we waited for the kid's bus to arrive. The day morning was beautiful as the sun peeked over the houses across the street. A neighbor was walking her dog like she does every morning but she was smiling directly at me with a sinister demon-like smile. The school bus pulled up and honked. I turned to give my kids hugs and that I love them, but I jerked away. They were all burned and reaching out to me, asking my way I do this to them. I was overly happy it was all a dream. Maybe I was mentally breaking down being away from other humans.

Day Thirteen:

The solitary ward was awkwardly quiet today. Usually, I would hear the guard's keys and the other inmates banging and kicking the door for entertainment. They loved pissing the guards off and honestly, it was a bit funny. Today just felt weird and off. I wasn't sure I had eaten breakfast yet, was it even time for breakfast. I was losing track of time and losing my mind along with it. When there was no lunch served I started to get pissed off. I was starving now, the little meals they give the prisoners are small and too far in between. I would need commissary just to survive but that's taken away as soon as you're put in solitary. I tried to keep my mind off not being served lunch and most likely breakfast but the hunger rumbles from my stomach kept me wondering where the hell everyone was at. It was time for dinner and still no meal. I was irate and began banging and kicking the door like the other inmates would if they were in the cells. Where the hell was everyone.

Day Sixteen:

After days of yelling, kicking, and screaming for a guard or anyone to come and give me at least some water. I was freaking out at this point. The water from the jailhouse toilet didn't work from the sink part but it flushed. I drink from the toilet bowl until I couldn't anymore. To make matters worse the nightmares I was having every night had gotten more intense. It was to the point that I felt like my dead wife and kids were in the cell with me. I couldn't tell dreams from reality anymore and I talked to something that I know was hiding in the dark.

Day Eighteen:

I kissed my wife deeply and embraced her close to me. My son called out to me, I was about to go to him but my forearms were stuck to my wife's back. My eyes were big from the pain as I jerked my head back to release our kiss. Burned skin from her lips ripped from her face and stuck to mine. The sound of skin being torn invaded my ears and a loud screech escaped from my mouth after I pulled away from my wife. The smell of burned flesh caused me to choke. My wife was reaching out to me but not in an I need you or want your manner. She looked pained, grieved, and evil. Before I could reach out to her, my son stood over me repeatedly asking me why. I jumped up out of my sleep wishing I would've died too, wanting to be able to not have the nightly nightmares I was having. I was extremely thirsty, hungry, and scared. Whatever was in my cell kept telling me to kill myself and no one will miss me anyway. That I'm better off dead with my family. I wanted to listen so badly but there was nothing in the cell I could use to do it. I thought I heard guard keys are and banged on my door as hard as I could. After ten minutes of trying to get someone's attention I gave up and listened to the evilest laugh coming from inside my cell.

Day Twenty:

I've been in this small cell for too long. There's no one out there that's going to help me. Where the hell was everyone, I have to get out, but how. The unknown thing in my cell was my wife. She was haunting me, pushing me to the edge to kill myself and I was ready. Maybe this is more of a punishment to push my mind to the limits of sanity. I deserve this, I deserve this torment. I began to bang my head against the bricks to feel some type of pain my family had felt. I hit my head harder and faster, ignoring the blood that was rapidly streaming down my face. It felt good to feel pain, so good that I began to laugh louder and louder. I lost my sight and soon after consciousness. I could drift away without a care in the world, hell the guards weren't around to get me medical attention so I will be dead soon. I welcomed death, I closed my eyes and waited to take my last breath. Death never came, instead, I was standing in front of my burning home listening to my family yell for help as the flames consumed them.

Day One:

The cell door closed behind me, my cellmate was beating my ass as soon as he heard the click of the door. He was much bigger and stronger than I was, I stood no chance of overpowering the guy. Every punch and kick broke some type of bone. No guard came to my rescue and it seemed like I was getting my ass beat for hours, I knew I was dead. The guy picked me up by the neck and told me that he didn't like child killers and to make peace with my maker before he bashed my head against the cell's brick wall. I spit out my teeth and was losing consciousness. He paused to tell me that I don't deserve to live, that no one was going to miss me anyways. I fell to the floor gasping for air and coughing up blood. His foot crushed my nose and broke my jaw as he began stomping on my face. He kept stomping me until I wasn't moving or breathing anymore. I got what I deserved, I even deserve the hell I have to repeatedly live in since my death.