Michael Fletcher woke with a bang; he had hit his head on the ceiling
again. It felt like it was about to explode. He clutched it tightly
with his caring, gentle, healing hands and this appeared to numb the
pain. The pain weakened and Mike released his head from his hands'
clasp. In doing so, the hands turned back into the rough, tired old
things he had gone to sleep with. He swung his tired legs over the
side of the bunk bed and climbed down the cold, metal ladder. It was
an old bed and was made of metal, but it suited him. As long as he got
his sleep he was all right, because he could get stressed if he didn't
get his beauty sleep.
He walked stiffly towards the mirror. It seemed to enlarge the cell as
well as reflect the little amount of light that managed to find its
way into the small, dank, dark room. His legs were just waking up. He
sniffed the musty air and gave a deep, tired sigh. The mirror was in
the corner of the room where the sink clung to the wall with its
rusty, arm-like nails. When he peered in, a stranger looked back at
him. He had big, blue eyes and rough, tough, unshaven skin with
dimples. The stranger looked almost ghost like except for the
infrequent sunrays caught in the exercise yard on a fine day.
"Never should have happened." Mike whispered to himself, dwelling on
the past. Mike used to be an executive manager in a big petroleum
company like BP. One day everything went wrong.
The day had started really well. He had clinched a deal with a
Californian trucking company that would bring in a good payment,
enough to retire on. An assistant then walked into the office and
reported a missing worker. Without him a tank of oil wouldn't be able
to be shipped off.
Mike left his office and went to go and look for him. He would have
sent someone else to go looking but he felt he deserved a break from
the sweaty conference room he had been stuck dealing in all morning.
An hour later and Mike still hadn't found the missing worker. He went
to the front reception and rang the worker's house, no answer. There
was just one last sector of the campus he hadn't checked. He started
off towards it. He was beginning to become impatient. He bounded
through the first door he came to, unable to resist the anger inside.
Mike had fallen upon stony ground. In the middle of the room was a
large, rectangular, wooden table. On either side of it were two groups
of people, neither of whom looked too friendly. They were smoking
something, which didn't smell too much like tobacco. On the table were
bags filled with white stuff that looked a little like flour. He had
stumbled across a gang of drug dealers. Mike tried to make a run for
it but before he could lift up his foot there were heavy,...