Takeover by Diana Dwayne Read Free Book Online Page B

that they weren’t being treated as political prisoners. I’d go over the particulars of their demands, but really, I’m too tired at the moment. He was actually elected to their parliament while he was still incarcerated, but was—and probably still is—the only member of parliament who was ever elected and never saw the inside of Parliament itself, because he died during the hunger strike which he led in prison a month after his election.” At this point, I’m too tired and too stressed to care whether correcting my cellmates is going to get me shanked or shivved, or whatever these crazy kids are calling it nowadays.
    I’m not entirely sure what Nicolette’s response is, because I’m already halfway back to sleep. I can only assume that it’s some usage of the word “bitch.”
    When I finally wake up for good, the small amount of sunlight creeping through what I guess is still called a window has grown, giving the inside of the cell the appearance of heat.
    “Look who finally decided to wake up,” Nicolette says. “You missed your breakfast. That sort of thing’s going to get you in trouble, ya know?”
    “Why’s that?” I ask, shaking my head as if it’ll make my body less tense about being here. I’m pretty sure this is the same conversation that she was trying to have with me earlier, but I was too tired then to care.
    “Guards think you’re not eatin’, they gonna start thinkin’ you got a disorder or somethin’.”
    “Yeah,” I say, taking a moment to admire myself for being able to sleep in “the canoe.”
    “You got some mail,” Sam adds.
    “Thanks,” I say, looking around for it. “Where is it?”
    “It’s on the sink, yo,” Sam says and lies back down on her bunk.
    I take a minute to stretch before I get out of “bed,” feeling every muscle that I’ve never been aware of before screaming at me in pain. When I finally hobble to my feet, I become livid at what I see.
    “You read my mail?” I shout.
    “Keep it down,” Sam says, not looking at me.
    Then Nicolette explains. “Wasn’t us. Guards go through everybody’s shit before they hand it over. Wouldn’t want someone to send you some coke or a shiv, you know.”
    “I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head at the obviousness of it. The return address is removed, and the top part of the envelope is slit open. I take it and sit back down. What I’d really love to do is pee, and I know that at some point, my modesty will be outweighed by the sheer force of my body’s needs, but I’m not quite there yet.
    “Oh,” Nicolette says, as if reading my mind, “if you’re going to drop a deuce, do us all a favor and flush every time somethin’ comes out.”
    “Yeah, like you did first day you was in here?” Sam asks, jokingly. “That shit stank up the room for a month.”
    “You’ve been in here a month?” I ask.
    “She’s just dramatic,” Nicolette answers. “I think it’s a Latina thing, but Sam down there disagrees. Nobody’s kept on lockdown for a month, ‘less they in solitary. My first day in here, I thought I’d be clever and do my thing after everyone else was asleep. You know, I didn’t want to go in front of two other girls who couldn’t not watch me while I was goin’, you know? ‘Bout a minute into it though, they woke up, and they chewed my ass. We got a ventilation problem in here, so you shit, you flush like five, six times before you done, all right?”
    “All right,” I say, starting to lose the battle between me and my bladder. What a lovely world I’ve been dropped into. I wonder if one of the reasons for prison violence has something to do with having to be around other people while you’re doing your business. I haven’t even done it yet, and the thought is making me a little cranky.
    I finally give in and drop my pants, my skin cold against the stainless steel bog as I pull the letter from the opened envelope. It’s from James. It reads:
    Rose,
    I can’t even imagine what