Tommy couldn't sleep at all that night, so wrapped up in his own thoughts. The warden called for breakfast, and unlocked all of the cells. Tommy was starving, and he bounded off his cot and headed for the cafeteria. A bunch of tall, intimidating men pushed him out of the way and stepped all over him. He angrily spit onto the ground and pushed himself up. He made his way to the back of the line, waiting for his meal. The line slowly progressed forwards, and Tommy grabbed a tray. An elderly woman with a brown wart on her face slapped what looked like three sausages on his plate. Another woman scraped some burnt eggs and a charred piece of toast onto his plate. A man finally gave him one burnt pancake and a carton of orange juice. Tommy grabbed a straw and a plastic spoon and looked around for a table. He could see it was similar to high school. A bunch of meaty, tough looking guys sat at one table, a bunch of people who looked nuts sat off to the side, and then there was an almost-empty table at the back of the room. Tommy made his way there, and was almost tripped by two black guys with tattoos covering their bodies. "Hey little girl, maybe we can fuck you tonight!" One of the shouted, laughing until he started choking. Tommy self consciously pulled at his chest-length black hair. He quickly sat down and stared at his mess of a breakfast. He was suddenly full, but forced down the eggs and one of the sausages on his plate. A petite guy with glasses looked up at Tommy. "What are you in for?"
Tommy almost choked on his second sausage. "Uh, vehicular manslaughter, two counts of third degree murder, and 47 counts of attempted third degree murder."
"Shit, seriously? And you only got in for three fucking years? Man, you're fuckin' lucky." When Tommy stared at him, confused, he started laughing. "News travels like a fucking wildfire here. You're Tommy Lee, drummer for Motley Crue, and you fuckin' drove drunk and ended up here."
"Well, what are you here for?" Tommy asked the guy, and started picking at his pancake.
"First degree murder. Two counts. Caught my wife cheating. Killed 'em both. Now I've got life here. Oh well, at least all I have to do is some chores to stay here. No more rent, no more work, it's fine for me."
Tommy instinctively turned to move away, but decided against it. "Shit. You don't seem like the type to kill two people, man. What"s your name?"
"Jeremy. And I know, the nerdy persona never stopped me. Took the closest fucking knife in the house and just started fucking stabbing them. I think they died with him still inside her." Jeremy started laughing manically, and stirred his oatmeal with his plastic spoon.
Tommy finished his meal in silence, and then was escorted to his cell by the warden. "Shit, Tommy! I didn't know we were cell neighbors!" Jeremy shouted to him. Tommy shivered, and sat down on his bed. He saw a little piece of something sticking from underneath his mattress, and he pulled it out. It was a piece of paper, probably from whoever was in this cell previously. He started reading it and noticed it was not a prisoner at all.
Everything will be alright. Sometimes time is the wound, but not in this case. This wound shall mend in time.
It sounded eerily creepy to what the apparent ghost said to him last night. He ripped it up into little pieces and threw it into his dirty toilet. With nothing to do but stare at the wall, Tommy did just that. A few hours after breakfast, the warden opened up his cell. "Tommy, your turn for kitchen duty."
Tommy got off of his bed and followed the warden into the kitchen. A giant mess of pots, pans, and crud-covered trays waited for him.
"Wash the pots and pans, run the trays through this conveyor belt, and put everything away. There's a list of where everything goes near the stove. If you finish early I'll let you go outside for twenty minutes."
Tommy grudgingly put on a pair of gloves and started scraping off the crud caked onto the pots and pans. Eventually he got everything clean and tidy, but apparently not quick enough for the warden. "Back to your cell. Lunch in hour and a half." The bars locked behind him, and he looked through the little window into Jeremy's cell. "Hey bro," Tommy said into Jeremy's cell. He looked up from his bed and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Hey Tommy. 'Sup?"
"Um, in jail. Bored out of my fucking mind. Got anything to do?"
"Well," Jeremy said, sitting up. "We're almost done making this powerful fucking wine in here. It's gonna be great."
"Wine? How the hell do you get wine in here?"
"Hell no. We make it. It tastes fucking foul, but it'll be enough to knock you the fuck out for the night. In fact, I think today's the day we get the wine." Jeremy walked over to the other window on the other side of his cell and looked into it. "Ross, 'ya there, bro?"
"The fuck you want, asshole?" A deep voice growled. He sounded busy. Tommy tried to peer into the other window, but couldn't see anything but gray walls.
"We got some fuckin' Pruno ready?"
"Hell yeah. 'Bout another hour, I'd say. This one's gonna be a fuckin' good one."
"Fuck, awesome. Pass me some when it's done."
Jeremy walked back to the window that connected his and Tommy's cells. "Well, once it's ready, Ross will hook us up. He acts like he hates me, but I think he likes me. Either that or he's afraid I'll put a knife to him."
"Good. Can't wait to try some of that shit," Tommy said. Jeremy seemed to have other things on his mind, because he went back to his bed. Tommy did the same. He tried to sit down on his bed, but felt something there. He looked at his bed and saw the angelic figure of Nikki sitting on his bed. He could see the wall behind him. "Nikki? What the fuck?" Tommy whispered, so Jeremy wouldn't hear him talking. "You're fucking dead. How the fuck are you here?"
The spirit laughed, and it sounded like the most beautiful guitar he'd ever heard. "Tommy, I promised I'd watch over you..." The spirit whispered. "I'll always be here... You'll be out in no time... back to Erik... Fancy a cutie like him, huh?" The spirit started laughing again. "They'll all be okay... It's not your fault... It's the drugs... Stop using them... For me..." The spirit started fading away, and Tommy swore he saw it fly up and out of the ceiling. He stared incredulously at his bed, and convinced himself he was fucking crazy. He walked back over to Jeremy's window. "Bro, you got something I can fuckin' write with?"
"Sure, bro. Piece of fuckin' graphite. Works fuckin' awesome. You can have it," He said, handing him a large chunk of graphite. It rubbed onto his hands. "Thanks, man."
Tommy took it to the wall and started writing, drawing, everything he could think of. He wrote letters to people, song lyrics, random words, drew angels, little children, symbols and other shit. Once he was done, he hid the chunk of graphite behind his toilet and admired his work. He knew it'd have to be cleaned soon, but he didn't care. He needed that.