Tuesday, November 15, 2016

"The Pink Princess" (Part III)

The Pink Princess

Part III

Starting to trip... I can feel the surge of adrenaline go through my body as my heart beats faster and faster in turn pumping even more adrenaline into my system and the cycle continues to repeat it self. Damn, who , besides me is up this time of night , bumping they radio loud enough for me to hear it? I don't recognize the song, but the "beat" sounds familiar? Oh shit! Is that my heart beat? I look down and see my "shirt jumping", like there's a cricket trying to jump off my chest and through the left center part of my shirt in an attempt to escape. It is my heart!

My chest is gonna hurt/be sore in the morning from beating so hard, but as long as it doesn't jump out and hit the floor right now, it won't blow my high. No time for this useless inner self dialog, I need to do something with all this energy I got. I don't know "what" I'm gonna do, but it's gonna be Great, Legendary, Spectacular all that, but it's gonna start with the 1st most important step of any of my ingenious plans... "I need to smoke a cigarette!" "I'm freaking Awesome!", I think to myself on the way to my bunk to get a square. I already know there are no more cigarettes in my left sock where I usually keep 1 or 2, but at the same time I was thinking "how freaking awesome I am", I had lifted my leg, knee to chest like a flamingo, placing my ankle within reach of my hands, and did a quick check.

I imagine if someone had seen me standing there on one leg like a flamingo it would have looked cray cray, but fortunately my imagination was somewhere in oblivion. Off to my bunk to re up on a smoke. I'm moving so fast, I feel like I've only taken one step and I'm already in the dorm area bypassing the normal 10 to 15 steps necessary to travel from the back stall, pass the officer station and water fountain again. "Rizm, slow down! Your'e gonna miss your turn", I hear a little voice in my head say. I don't recognize the voice as friend or foe, it's unidentified, but I listen cause I figured if the voice is in "my head" then it must be one of the "good guys", right? I'm make a quick right turn with my body as if I'm whipping my rydye on the street. Ironically, once again the normal amount of steps it takes to cover the distance to my bunk have been by passed.

I've arrived! Already, I can taste the cigarette in my mouth and feel smoke caressing my lungs, even though I have neither retrieved nor lit my square. Getting anxious....I think to myself, "Dude, you standing up here fantasizing about smoking, when you could actually be puffin on a square in reality, right now time!" "Tighten up going in ya "house", get what you need to light the fireplace and get to smoking like a chimney." I ready my body to do a squat down to where my house/footlocker is located on the floor. [Yeah, a squat. I don't do no "bending straight over like a toe-touch" in prison, feel me. If You've been, then you understand.]

Upon reaching ground level 19.......7.......17.......Nothing?! 19.......7.......17....... Still nothing?! With
my heart beat still racing so fast I can feel it pounding in my chest, I focus in on slowing the pace at which I enter the numbers on my combination lock. This lock been wit me and served me well for the last 7 years and some change. Would've been longer but Lock #1 was compromised in earlier days when I went to the box. It was either give up the digits or the PoPo was gonna cut it off my footlocker, so I gave them the combo, but I can't trust a lock somebody else has combination to. He served his purpose for the time allotted and I learned my lesson. Now I keep 2 locks, one for daytime cause I'm more likely to go to the box/jail over some stupid shit and If I gotta give the number up to PoPo "this" is the one I'm willing to sacrifice for the sake of preserving the integrity of #2, Ole Red. I call him "Ole Red" cause he's been with me the longest, securing and holding it down for me, thus, the first name being "Old", and "Red" cause.......I know the color is metallic and the dial has black paint with white numbers and marks painted overlaying. "Ole Red" has put in some work for me outside of keeping things locked down and secure.

He's been hanging off the end of a belt busting a head to the white meat before [Another reason I don't want him confiscated or compromised by the Police, at the time] and although I've washed him more times than I can count and it's been a minute since I've put him to work, whenever I look at him, I swear he has a "red tint" to it's metallic color. I still don't know if what I see is real or just my mind playing tricks on me. Sometimes I get a lil paranoid and wonder if I'm the only one that sees blood residue or is it apparent to others as well. I've entered these numbers at least a million times over the years so why my trusted lock is identifying the code as foreign and unfamiliar, refusing to grant me access into my own house is simultaneously puzzling and frustrating me. My anxiousness is increasing by the second...19.......7.......17....... Ugh!

Ok, 19.......7.......17.......19.......7.......17.......19.......7.......17...... Ugh! What the f**k! I can't believe this sh**! I grunt scream, not knowing whether or not I just said it to myself or out loud in an audible voice for others to hear, as I give the lock a good hard quick yank as if I have super powers that will enable me to just rip it off with my bare hand. Surprise! Yeah, unexpected to me, it's still locked. Baffled by this, but not having the time to be, due to interruption of Plan B being inserted into my brain. [I keep a "Plan B" in my back pocket, and my backup plan has a backup plan. Surviving in this jungle has taught me among other things to be over rather than under prepared.] I keep a razor broken down to just the blade, under the top corner of my mattress. Over the years, I've learned how to use the small piece of metal as a key of sorts, in an emergency such as this one. I know what you're thinking. You wondering if breaking in lockers is my thing? "Nah, that ain't my MO". Although, I have come out my bag a number of times, only when necessary, [Hunger will make you do some things. My philosophy being, "I may die, but I ain't gone just sit here and starve to death."]

If it comes down to it, I don't steal, I "take" up front in ya face, feel me. So I only use this skill on my own property. Before I can think to spring up, like a Jack in the box, I've done it. Going to reach for my lil home made key.......Skiiiiiiiirt....... I slam on the breaks.......What in the FUCK!........There is a suicidal nigga in my bed! WTF! I say this nigga is suicidal, because he gotta be! That's the only logical reason I can think of why this Fuck Nigga is on my rack. It's obvious to me, dis Fuck nigga wanna die and his pussy ass ain't got the guts to kill himself! Pussy Bitch! I betcha Rizm got the remedy! For the most part I stay wit that "Woo"! I keep a shank on me from Sun up to Sun down and a lil bit after. I normally be Strapped up until bout 10 p.m. when the dorm has settled down for the night. [again, for the most part] I figured between around 11 p. m.- 4:30 a.m. I'm less likely to have to stab a nigga up. Guess I figured wrong tonight.

On the opposite side of my mattress, opposite side where I keep the "key", there's a thread loose where the seams meet and the mattress is sown together. Well, at least it's supposed to be completely sown up, but mine has been altered. It's been purposely altered so that upon pulling on the one loose thread, it opens up a small hole just large enough to slip a finger in, then a second finger, then a 3rd, 4th, until finally my whole hand is in. The mattress continues to swallow my whole arm, going past my elbow and up my bicep before being halted by my shoulder. My exploratory hand would retrieve my knife upon arrival to the marked destination in the stomach of my mattress. Once again, before I can finish "thinking" move to the other side of the bunk, I'm, there, like I'm the Flash or have Teleportation capabilities.

On the other side of my bunk, there's no loose thread. Am I so high I can't find my thread? Hell nah!, but the fact is , There is no thread! With this new info saturating and Boggling my brain, The only scenario that I can logically come up with at this point is that whatever dude that had the nerve to lay down in my rack, not only somehow knew where my secret spot for hiding my shank was, but had the balls to steal my Woo from its spot, as well. If this nigga got my knife in addition to whatever he had before he stole mine, [ I won't even be dumb enough to think or assume he came to the party empty handed.] this could prove to be a serious problem. Ok, "This nigga's waking up!

What's it gone be, Bru?", I question myself. I'm feeling mixed emotions of #1) panic attached to fear due to the knowledge of meeting this potential enemy tryna set me up to be in a knife fight with no knife. [Don't like how these odds are stacking up against me.] and #2) Matched with adrenaline fuel by anger due to this bozo ass nigga tryin me. Never the less, I have a back up plan. [My backup plans have backup plans, remember.] I feel I'll have a better chance to get my point across if I'm armed with the proper tool. Back in the bathroom, up in the ceiling, the last light over the row of sinks, on the inner side panel, if I pop the cover off exposing the bulbs, I gotta shank duck tapped to the inside. About to take off in that direction......I feel a sturdy hand on my shoulder.


Disclaimer: (*Based on a True Story. Names, locations, dates, times, details, etc. have been altered with respect to the sensitivity of the graphic nature of contents.) [*For Entertainment purposes Only.]

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