Breaking out
by Alasse Fefalas

"Wooley. You have mail," the warden said from behind the steel bars.

Holden looked up, his eyes bloodshot. Rubbing his face, he sluggishly stood from the thin, polyester bed that made his back ache every time he laid down on it. He mumbled a thanks as the warden thrust it into his hands. The envelope was thick, made of heavy paper, and 'Holden Wooley' was boldly written in cursive on the front. The letter inside was crisp, and the neat fold lines were the only things that marred the page.

He read the letter slowly, taking in every line his wife had written for him. His right hand raked through his once-perfect blonde hair – a habit that he had acquired from his 5 years at McRory's Pharmaceuticals, reading and replying to the complain letters they received. Most times, they were so peculiar that he had to take a while to understand what they meant and ponder how he could answer them. He used to hate mail so much that he would make his wife pick them up. How ironic that I actually look forward to them now, he thought.

"What you got there, brah?" Holden's cellmate said.

"Mail. From my wife," Holden said, walking back to his bed. The tall, dark skinned man was a total opposite of him. At first, Holden was deathly afraid that he would not survive the night with the heavily tattooed bald man, but despite the ink, his fellow inmate had no desire to do away with him. He was the paper boy, he had said, and paper boys don't clean up no messes.

"So soon? You're a lucky one."

"Yes, well, not when she is writing to you about the dire straits your family is in."

"At least you got someone writing to you. Some of the boys down here never get no mail ever since they came."

"I'm not even supposed to be here."

"Yeah, yeah. You've told me how the kid stuffed the packs into your bag and you walked out with them. I've heard wilder stories than yours, trust me."

Holden could only sigh in exasperation. No one believed him when he said he didn't stuff the 5 packs of cigarettes in his laptop bag. He thought a street urchin had taken something from his bag, so he ran out the convenience store, horrified that the security sensors beeped when he passed through them. "Retail theft. Me. And cigarettes. I don't even smoke! 5 years of my life, gone. Just like that."

The letter from his wife was now crumpled in his hand. "I need to get out of here," Holden said.

A loud laugh erupted from his roommate. "And how you gonna do that, brah?"

"I've got you," Holden said.

"What you going on about? You want me to help you break out?"

"Not break out, per se. You have diamorphine, don't you?"

"The fuck you talking about, brah?"

"Diamorphine. Heroin," Holden said, jumping up from his bed. "You're a paper boy, you should have some."

Holden's cellmate grabbed his orange jumpsuit. "What you know about that, huh, white boy?"

"I'm not saying you do, but you should! I mean, it's like that on tv." The larger man eyed Holden for a minute before letting him go. Straightening his shirt, Holden said, "I just need one. I get seizures a lot, so if I take just one, they'll have to send me to the hospital."

"And what you gonna do after that, brah?"

"I haven't thought that far yet... maybe I'll catch a cab."

..

A/N: I was tasked to write a prequel of a news report, with the characters as the main focus. My inspiration was a news report about an inmate, Holden Wooley, who tried to hail a cab to escape from the hospital. I'm being serious here.