Jailbird

"LINDA!"

"What?"

"What the FUCK do you want?"

"My body, arsehole!"

"I don't have it!"

"Tell me where it is, shit-for-brains, and I'll leave you alone."

"You're gonna get me killed, you crazy bitch!"

"Self-inflicted, arsewipe - where's my body?"

"LINDA!"

He stands in a solitary jail cell, pants around his ankles, yelling at a besser-brick wall. The warden watching the television screen shakes his head sadly.

"Geez, they reckon that shit's harmless, eh? Look at the poor fucker!"

He doesn't see the KISS ME written in beautiful cursive in red-rose lipstick on Mike's arse that Mike's just spotted in the mirror – and which has sparked this latest screaming match.

"Linda, for God's sake..."

She disappears.

He slumps to his knees and starts to cry, as she reappears behind him and crumbles a biscuit into his bed.

****

(Mike)

Ten times round the hot concrete exercise yard. What a crock. The shittiest thing is, that was the highlight of my fucking day, after Linda's visit last night. Even with the other cons staring at me and whispering to each other and the resident arsehole who had to come over and grab my shoulder right on the nerve and 'welcome' me to his fucking dump.

Back inside I go, and I sit in the jail cell, butt cheeks freshly scrubbed, and try to work out what the fuck I'm going to do. With Linda dead, there's no one who gives a shit about me. I'm broke, in the eyes of the law, and I'd have to be out of here to get hold of some of the real cash. I can't post bail for myself, no one else will, so I'm fucked. Stuck in prison again with a bunch of arsehole losers and a ghost writing come-on messages on my arse.

Fuck.

Fuck.

FUCK!

There's no way out of this shit. If I tell Linda the truth, the shit'll just hit the fan. She thinks she can just find her fucking body and float off to happyland. If she finds out what I've done with it, there's gonna be no happyland for nobody. She's gonna fuckin' kill me.