The Hunger

He was all nervous energy. Agitated. Unable to stop himself wearing a rut in the floor from the endless pacing. The hunger gnawed at him with an intensity previously unknown, frightening in its persistence. He’d never been like this outside. Something about the confinement of incarceration, the crushing dullness of groundhog-day and, had awoken this need in him.

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Was it really only a week since he’d smugly crowed to all in earshot about the size of his stash? He’d been so sure it would hold out until his deal came through. Instead, he’d burned through it all in record time. And now, he thought, he was being punished for his hubris.

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As much as he’d tried to fill the void with coffee, it was too fleeting a pleasure to keep the wolf from door. Training helped a little, it only because counting reps occupied some part of his brain that kept the base bits in line. He’d had enough of the endless repeats on the DVD channel. Mindfulness exercises were, sadly, completely out of the question.

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All that remained to him was the oblivion of sleep. Ah, sleep – devourer of dead time, final refuge for all behind bars. Assuming, of course, that they can tune out the cacophany of too many crims (crammed into not enough jail), or the incessant blaring of the PA system. Fortunately, he could. Sleep came swiftly.

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He awoke, annoyed, just able to make out his cellie in the blacked-out gloom. He began to protest, but his spirit soared when he heard the word: “Your library books are here!”