DAY 64: ARTS AND CRAFTS (THIRD SHIFT)

[envy_the_sinners]

Scar had spent the morning napping in the Sun Room. Brunch had been skipped, as the nausea was still persisting. He would have been happy to lounge around all day and catch up on sleep, but his nurse had continuously been suggesting that he would be happier if he did something with himself. Fine.

So, Scar had meandered into the Arts and Crafts room. Sitting at one of the tables, he absentmindedly fiddled with the supplies at the center. The scissors were disappointingly dull. He had been hoping for something useful, but apparently they really did think of everything.

He may as well take his time to sort his thoughts. But he wasn't really sure where to begin. He looked down at his injured hand. The bandage didn't cover the rash entirely, but at least he had received medical attention.

He still wasn't at ease with this whole "illness" thing.

[For Murphy!]

Comments

[stop_the_rain]

Murphy could only shrug at that, a round clock face emerging on the paper in front of him. His drawing skills were nothing to write home about.

"I don't know your story, pal." And who was he to say what someone else deserved? He'd thought he had that right, once. Look where that had gotten him. Hell and deeper into hell, and no way out no matter where he turned. Was this about justice and karma? Or was it some sick joke?

"You got any family?"

[envy_the_sinners]

Scar was silent for a moment. No, he didn't know his story. A scant few people did, really. And he was unlucky enough that one of those people was here. Then the question.

"They're all dead."

There wasn't any point in avoiding the question. Everyone he loved was gone; taken.

[stop_the_rain]

"I'm sorry."

Murphy knew better than to offer anything that would come off as pity. He knew that kind of pain, you didn't want to hear anybody's pithy advice or commiseration on the subject. But these were just the kinds of things you asked each other in this kind of situation.

He finished his crude sketch of a clock tower and the crayon kept going, making a diamond in the corner of the paper.

"Been here long?"

He didn't dwell on the subject of family. He knew that tone, too. Plenty of guys had it, himself included. It was a big neon sign that said 'I don't want to talk about it'. You learned to respect that pretty damn quickly.

[envy_the_sinners]

And he knew not to dwell on the subject, either. Finally, someone who seemed to understand Scar's 'don't talk about anything personal' vibe. This man was probably in a similar boat.

"This is my..." It took him a second. Could it really be only his fourth time waking up in this hell hole? He frowned. It had felt like so much longer... So much had happened.

"This is my fourth day. So no, not even a week."

[stop_the_rain]

Only four days? That wasn't that long at all. Murphy would have guessed ' a few months' at the lowest and a 'few years' at the highest.

"It gets easier," he offered, a squiggly line now extending from the base of the triangle. "Being locked up, I mean. You start to get used to it. Get used to the schedule. That's the biggest thing, I think. You get so damn used to doing this thing at this time and then it's all you know."

He wondered if there were any work details or groups or anything like that here. He'd found that keeping his mind and hands busy in the clink were a life-saver. Workshop had at least made the time go faster, and even let him forget a little bit.

"And hey, it's three meals a day and a bed."

[envy_the_sinners]

Scar's eyes narrowed. He didn't want to get used to it. He wanted to be rid of this place, however that may be possible.

"Maybe so. But most prisons don't have beasts running around the halls." He could deal with the schedule. With the condescending nurses. What he was sick of doing was running for his life. But if he ever wanted to get out, running for his life every night was the price he had to pay.

"That's true," he conceded. It was much easier when he at least knew he could sleep and eat without being attacked.