Inmate #432
Someday he was going to break out of this place and he was going to find some where he might belong. Until then, he would stay low and he would wait. That was all he or anyone else could do. There was a guard down the hall sitting on a stool and keeping watch while napping. Inmate #432 leaned his forehead hot with disease against the cool bars he'd been behind most of his life. There was no way he was spending the remainder of his days behind them.
His cell mates talked amongst themselves behind him and Inmate #432 turned around to see they had arranged their chairs in a circle. Inmates #431, #433, and #435 were playing a game called simply, "Guess." An aimless game, but it was better than nothing.
"Want to play with us?" The young one , #435 asked.
"No." #432 shook his head, "I'm done playing games." He turned to look out the cell's small window that was also barred, but it was what was beyond the bars that caught his attention. There were grassy hills out there, full of tall flowing grass that was a rich green.
It had been so long, but he could still remember what the grass felt like. He could still remember running through the tall grass as a boy, before the disease had taken hold of him, before he had been marked as one who was less than worthy. Lifting up a hand, he looked at it in the filtered sunlight.
There was no physical proof that anything was wrong with him that he could see, but the proof was in the test results. The scientists looked at their charts and their graphs and said, "He's got it. He's got it real bad."
Inmate #435's grumblings brought him back to the present. "#434 would play with us."
"Well he's gone so I guess he won't be, along with me. The disease... the virus made sure of that. It's only a matter of time before you won't be playing either." #432 told them. Maybe it was a little harsh of him to point out the truth, but he still interrupted them when they began to make sounds of indignation. "Please, spare me the sentiments."
Just then the bell went off signaling them to change stations. Their quiet time was over and now they were on laundry duty. Every day was exactly the same, with their set times and supervised breaks. They were quarantined laborers. The guard down the hallway woke up with a snort and stumbled over to begin unlocking the cells of Inmates #400 through #449.
In a single-file line, the inmates were led down the cold, stone hallways to the laundry rooms. The only sound amidst the shuffling of feet was the hum of florescent lights overhead. Inmate #432 could smell the cheap laundry detergent even though he knew they still had to go down one more hallway before they reached the laundry rooms. Cleanliness was a top priority when they had to minimize the spread of disease.
The walk was the same as it was every day and #432 found his thoughts drifting to the world outside his cell window. Among those grassy hills maybe he could find a lake he could swim in. Though every day he had to suffer the scalding water as he was forced to scrub away all the "extra disease," it was nothing like when he was a boy and would cannonball into the lake to cool off.
He had been so lost in his memories and daydreams that he failed to notice the line had stopped moving until he ran into the man in front of him. What happened next, Inmate #432 could only watch in horror. Inmate #431 was pushed into the one in front of him and a domino affect was the result all the way down the line right up to the very large guard at the front. Every Inmate from #400 to #449 felt the icy stab of fear as they watched the guard get pushed down to the ground. Their terror grew as the overweight man struggled to get up and then miraculously got his feet back under him.
As the guard turned to Inmate #400, the one who had pushed him, his death glare was visible through the protection shield on his cap. Every inmate knew they would soon be watching yet another inmate get punished for accidentally touching someone of a higher stance. But no inmate would feel the guilt of #432. There was shouting and insults and as they began to get louder and the guards face get redder, #432 could bear it no longer.
"Stop!" He shouted, amazed he had the strength still to raise his voice so loudly.
The guard did stop, but it was out of shock rather than obedience. The look of surprise on the guards face quickly turned to one of disgust and hatred.
"Stop?" He repeated in a mocking tone. A tone that had decided #432's fate already. The guard began to take a few steps towards him and #432 began to feel more fearful than brave. The guards face leaned into his and he could see how hard he was breathing, how sweaty he was. As the yelling began, this time directed at him, #432 couldn't tear his eyes away from the man who struggling to breathe amidst his own shouting.
Inmate #432 was preparing himself for the beating of a lifetime as he knew there wasn't a way out of it, but it never would happen. The guards shouts were interrupted by his own gasp and he clutched at his heart. Inmate #432 reached out for him as the guard fell to his knees. There was something wrong with him but he didn't know what.
"He got the disease." He heard someone whisper. The guard was too heavy to keep up and #432 allowed him to slip to the floor before looking around at the other inmates. They were all cowering, why he wasn't sure. Some one said something about being seen with him like this, they were all going to be punished.
Any other day Inmate #432 might have cowered as well, but that day he had grassy hills and lakes in his mind and as he looked down the unguarded hallway, he felt brave again. With no thought of respecting the dying and/or dead, #432 knelled down and began tearing off the guards uniform and other necessary items. It was going to be far too big for him but he didn't exactly care at the moment.
"What are you doing?" An inmate asked. #432 didn't listen, it was every disease-ridden scum for himself at the moment and he took off down the hallway, putting his protection cap in place. If they got a good idea, good for them. He wasn't sticking around.
It was amazing how fast he was running, the adrenaline pumping him up, but it was even more amazing how easy it was to find the exit. It was labeled even, as if some higher person had felt like giving some unlucky schmuck a break. No guard looked up as a weak looking man in guard clothes far too big ran past them. Later he would think back on this moment and wonder if maybe some of the guards didn't believe in a the charts and graphs. Maybe they didn't think he had it bad, he had it real bad. Maybe they knew something no one else did.
Whatever it was, he still took off running and he didn't look back once. Not even when the siren went off and no one budged to do anything about an escaping lab experiment. #432 felt stronger than he had in years and the strength pushed him to run further and further. There was no stopping him anymore.
Amidst the grassy hills #432 ran and he breathed in the fresh air he hadn't experienced for years. Stripped down to his underwear, he fell to his hands and knees and would have kissed the ground before realizing that was would be dumb. Still, he laid on his stomach and pretended to hug it with all his might. When he looked up, he saw just over another hill the edge of a small lake. As if he had dreamed it up, #432 ran and did a cannonball into the cool water. It was so good to be back.
It was near sundown when #432 began on his way again, this time at a much more steady pace. There had been no fear of being caught once he laid in the grass, if they came for him now he knew it wouldn't matter. He had gotten what he wanted... but if they didn't come that was cool too.
Just over the next hill he looked down and saw a strip of wide dirt. A road he could follow and maybe find a town or a home... or food, as far as his stomach was concerned that was a top priority.
A set of two lights were coming down the dirt road and #432 put a hand up to shield his eyes. The vehicle slowed down before coming to a stop in front of him and he saw a very odd looking van or small bus with a small symbol on the front. The side nearest him was painted in vivid colors that he only looked at for a moment before it opened up. Looking out at him were two young guys with shaggy hair and laid back smiles. In there company was also a girl with longer hair but with the same smile. He hadn't seen someone laid back in a long time.
"Hello." He said cautiously, wondering if that was the right thing to say.
"Hey man." One of the guys said to him. "Where you headed?"
"Uh... anywhere really. I don't really have a place."
"Where's your clothes?" The other guy asked, it didn't seem to matter that he was aimless.
"I took them off." He told them, as if it was the most obvious thing ever.
The three looked at him for a moment in silence, their smiles seemed to grow a bit and #432 hoped that was a good thing. Then the girl spoke up.
"Want a ride somewhere? We got room." #432's stomach interrupted her with a growl and she laughed, "And we have food."
#432 didn't even bother wasting time to think about it, "That'd be great." And hopped in.
Taking a seat in the van, #432 saw there was another guy with a guitar sitting back there but with the same shaggy hair and smiles as the others. The music he was strumming out brought the same smile to #432's face.
"Do you have a name?" The girl asked him while handing him a bag of chips which he took immediately.
"Not really. Call me what you like I guess." He admitted, unaware if he sounded like a freak, but they didn't seem to care.
"That's cool, we'll think of something that fits brother." The one strumming the guitar told him.
The man formerly called Inmate #432 looked out his window to the East and saw a light above the hills. The people around him continued talking and eating as he stared towards the building that had stolen most of his life. He only allowed himself a moment to dwell on the place before turning away to join in the conversation and learn the names of his fellow travelers. He had broken out of that place and he had found somewhere he might belong.
