Prodigal Catharsis

Chapter Eight

***One Month Later***

I've been sitting here on this cot with only a toilet and steel bars to keep me company for the last thirty days. Two of my bottom teeth are missing, and I have lost my scholarship for College Football. All of that put aside, I'm going to f*****g kill that piece of s**t that caused me to be put in here. This very thought is the only thing to motivate me to maintain good behavior. The scene of what I will do to Jeffrey has been a thirty-day plan. I hope him and my sister, that little b***h, have had their little fun. It won't last much longer.

***Thirty Days Earlier***

Chained like a dog to this chair, I openly admit to what I have done. Yeah, I smashed that motherfucker across his temple, but assault to a minor is gonna be a big one on my record. However, nothing, not even three cheerleaders on my c**k at a time. The pig s**t cop releases the handcuff holding me to the chair, grabs me by the back of my arm, stands me up, and I tower over him like Goliath over David. Escorting me down the hallway, he recites the Miranda Rights to me, and i accept.

Damn these little cars, the cops drive. I have to duck down a foot and a half. In the car, I mention, "Don't worry about a public defender, just put me in front of a judge today, and I'll plead guilty."

The cops say nothing all twenty minutes to the Police Station.

Upon arrival, the cop escorts me to a little room with a small table and two chairs on either side, pointing inward. He sits me down on one and leaves the room. I can hear the doorknob lock behind him.

Twenty minutes later, a man in a black suit walks into the room and sits down in the chair across the table from me. He looks like a faggot version of Agent Smith if you ask me. We stare blankly into each other's eyes, not saying a word for at least five minutes. It was the most intense five minutes on my life. Then he breaks the silence with, "This interview is going to be recorded for trial purposes."

He sets a tape recorder directly in the middle of the table and presses the 'record' button.

"What is your name?"

"Thomas Richards."

"What is your date of birth?"

"December Twenty-Second, nineteen ninety two."

"In your own time, tell me what happened."

"I saw my sister, Rachel, sitting with someone she didn't know," I lied," and it looked like he was making her feel uncomfortable. So, I approached him to find out why he was bothering her, and he struck me in the face. So, I pulled him out of the booth and hit him back out of self-defense." Again, I lied. Truth is that I wanted to hurt that f*****g faggot. Now, I wanna f*****g kill him.

"Thank you for your time," he finished and turned off the tape recorder.

"Am I free to go?"

He never answered me, only stood up and walked out of the room, locking the door behind him. After another twenty minutes, a different cop walks in, stands me up, and says, "You're going to be placed in a holding cell until the Judge is ready to make a decision on when your trial will be."

"Are you kidding me?"

"I don't have a sense of humor to speak of, so no," he replies.

***Three Days Later***

Staring at the floor, I hear the footsteps of business shoes approaching the cell I'm in. Before me, on the other side of the bars, stands this ennormous man bigger than me. even I became intimidated by the size and the slick way he wore that suit.

"The Judge is ready to see you," he says in a thunderous roar of a voice.

I stood up, and the orange jumpsuit they had me put on three days ago smelled like aged horse s**t.

"I can't have you go before the judge looking and smelling the way you do." So he escorts me to a showering room. It's freezing f*****g cold and looks like the kind of place where little white guys get ass f****d by a big mexican named, Jesus.

The next thing I know, I'm buck ass naked with a bar of lever 2000 in hand and the big mother fucker giving my orange jumpsuit to some other guy in a suit.

"Hurry the f**k up!" he began, "We dont have all f*****g day."

I turn the 'hot' knob on and step in. The cold water shrivles up my d**k and I jump right back out.

"Why is this water freezing f*****g cold!"

He grabs me by my balls and throat, pulls me in close and says, " because, while your great grandmother was too busy f*****g Jack, the Titanic struck an Iceberg in the northern atlantic. This water is residual exports from the broken pieces of that very iceberg."

Then he shoves me back into the water and says, "This is the last time I'll patiently tell you to hurry up."

Despite the fact that the freezing ass cold water hurts like a b***h, I wash all the cracks and crevices. When I finish with the shower, my body is trembling cold and my balls ache. He throws me a towel to dry off with and a new orange jumpsuit to put on. Then he escorts me to a barber's chair.

"Sit the f**k down," he says as he grabs my shoulders and slams my ass into the seat. The barber, in a white coat and white pants, walks up with a straight razor and shaving cream on a brush. I gotta admit, this scared the hell out of me.

The barber applies the shaving cream to my neck and face then begins to rake the razor down the right side of my face. At any given point in time this guy could murder me if he wants to.

"Be very still, I don't want you to cut yourself," he says.

After he finishes shaving me, he wipes my face and neck with a steaming hot towel and the big man in the suit escorts me to a wooden door then leaves. Shortly afterwards, two Sheriff deputies approach me from behind, one to my left and the other to my right.

Shit, this is it. I swallow hard but the lump in my throat just won't go away.