06

MAVERICK.

WHY AM I even here? How is that even possible for a suspect to be imprisoned without the due process of shitty law?

Zoning out.

Staring back at the corner of those pale walls everyday. That's my job here. Not a literal job, but rather a task.

Frankly, I don't like what I've been doing for a decade now. For being stuck down here, left with no choice but to pay for the crime I never commit.

Their voices are still ringing inside my head during the time when that dick surrendered me to his dickleague.

Mom and Dad were there but I can't feel they empathise with me. They did not throw a glance or even a small glimpse at my seat that Tuesday morning.

They immediately settle things up, way too quick with the help of our family lawyer and their so-called psychiatrist.

I don't have a psychiatrist. I never contacted anyone but they brought one.

A week passed quickly, and I celebrated my twenty-fifth birthday inside the prison cell.

No one came to see and greet me or at least wish me death instead. . . since I never feel worthy to hear a happy birthday.

It's never a celebration, though. You can't call it a celebration if you are alone.

My unofficial and one and only ex-girlfriend never showed her face to me.

Is she ashamed of not doing anything back then? Terrified that I might disown her? Or is she ashamed that I'm on her ex-lover's list? Terrified that people might disown her for that fact?

Ten great shit years, my parents didn't get to see me again.

I wanna scream out of my lungs and ask life. . .

Am I a tool here?

Am I a great tool to make fun with?

Did you enjoy it?

Are you happy seeing me miserable than those sinners from the fires of hell?

Are you done or there's still something I should live to suffer and look forward to?

If I could have a chance I would, then let out a nervous laugh. Because I know there will be consequences for asking.

Asking.

They took that act out from me. From the moment they celled me in, all of the asking I did was put into the trash bin of their minds.

They restricted me to ask.

For justice.

For my rights.

For a chance to prove my innocence.

The process of my imprisonment is faster than the lightning. No courtroom moments. Poof! There you go Maverick, count bars as you rot in a prison cell. That's what happened.

There was also. . . I don't know if I really said that, but I can't remember I said what they insisted way back.

The cops told me that I created this guy named Greg Devian. They have records that I told them, earlier on that day of interrogation, that Greg Devian made me do the murder.

Who the fuck is Greg Devian? That guy must and should be in here and not my flat ass.

They clearly planned out everything to make things believable that I am a psychopath.

Every made up story, every made up evidence they presented against me just gave me bees in my stomach.

Perhaps, they saw potential in me. For them I am a perfect culprit for that crap, and they perfectly made me suitably perfect for being framed up.

I want to take that as a compliment then.

A rusty thud sound from the cell door took me out of my depth of existential crisis meditation.

I stood up from the ground and walked towards the door.

As soon as I reached it, I peered my eyes through the small rectangular window to see the person who knocked. "D-did someone knock? Or I'm just hearing things—"

"You have a visit, Maverick Devian." A smoky voice cut me off.

A visit.

A visit?

That's very mental of them minding to take a visit.

I cleared my throat as soon as I heard the rusty hinges whimpered from the door jamb.

Who could it be?

"Quick, the visiting hours are over. Your visit should not take long, understand?" The cop reminded me.

I looked up at him and nodded.

He accompanied me to the nearby room where prisoners were able to talk through a telephone with their visits.

When I stepped inside, I stopped the moment I saw those eyes.

Of all people why him?

The cop behind me pushed me through and I almost stripped my feet.

I glared at him.

He nodded, "Stop wasting time, Devian." the guy glared back.

Hesitant but I have to give this dick what he wants tonight.

Without giving him eye contact, I sat on the chair and grabbed the telephone from the top of the desk.

He did the same thing with his annoying smirk.

"You're welcome." He started his narrative.

My forehead creased. The fuck this dick talking about?

Tempted to put down the telephone, I met his eyes.

"Are you high?" I asked him.

He laughed. A mocking one.

"Don't be so rude, dude. I am the first person who has visited you in a decade. Be appreciative sometimes, Maverick."

I disgusted him with his wink. And decades have passed, yet he's not over using the dude-mocking-card? What an amateur mocker.

"Are you bored?" again, I asked him. I then took a peep outside the glass barrier, "You should get a life, Dawn. You can do better than bugging a framed up prisoner like me."

"Framed up?" I saw him scoff as he fixed the way he sits. "Yep, framed up."

I rolled my eyes.

I can't stand his presence. I need to leave him before I lose my mind and commit a real crime.

I stood up and left the telephone on the desk.

"Oh? Wait! I have something to give you. You don't want it? 'Kay, better keep this for life."

The audio from the telephone is still audible.

I turned and faced him.

He raised a white small envelope and started shaking it up.

I will just assume that this dick never experienced parental guidance and now he seeks for attention to fill the void inside him.

I approached near the glass barrier and took the thing he flexed.

Glittering design on the corner sides of it.

My brows furrowed.

I grabbed the telephone from the desk, "You are getting--"

"Yes, Maverick. Any best wishes for us?"

For a moment my tongue is not functioning. I wanted to speak and scream.

Eve doesn't deserve him.

My lips parted as I tried to gather some courage to protest. . . to come up with a sentence that could make him back out. But he didn't give me a chance to say anything.

Without losing an eye contact with me, he stood up and went to the same level as mine.

"Before leaving you here again, all alone. . ." He paused, "Thanks, Maverick."

He plastered his annoying smile again.

"You said you're welcome a few minutes ago, and now you are thanking me? I am starting to think you've lost your mind."

A question and a full sentence.

I really said that without stuttering?

The guy in front of me shrugged his shoulders and leaned closer to the glass barrier.

"You decide what you want to perceive." He stepped back.

"And for whatever it's worth. . ."His face went straight dreadful. "Nothing's gonna stop me now, to kill more."

I flinched, wide eyes and too doomed to speak.

Upon seeing my reaction, he grinned like a devil. Like a psychopath.

Under the dim lights of the corridor, Dawn vanished from my sight.

I only have one thing in mind that starts creeping in. . .

This is perhaps the real suffering.

THE END.