It was 1989 and the first time that I almost succeeded in killing a man. Yes, that’s right, you heard me it was an attempted murder. You didn’t know him like I do, or did. In fact you don’t know him at all, so keep your nose out! Jeez, I’m kidding. I’ll tell you. He was so annoying, like a little tick that has embedded itself into your skin and just sits there draining all your blood and energy as the hours pass by. I sit and stare at the white brick walls before me and wring my hands as I acknowledge my bright orange, Guantanamo bay style boiler suit. I look like a prick. I reach for the non-existent cigarettes in my pocket, only to be disappointed to discover that they are not there. I am 28 years old and my cigarettes got confiscated, how crap. I press my head against my cell bars and they’re cold against my ears.
“Hey dude!” I hiss to the guy across the way; “Have you got a cigarette I can buy?”
But the man only shakes his head. I don’t even know his name; but he’s a tight little shit if ever there was one.
©Sophie Bowns 2011-2014