Categories > TV > Prison Break


by morph 0 reviews

Michael's first night in prison was not a fun one. One shot. Rated for language. Inspired by 'The Shawshank Redemption.'

Category: Prison Break - Rating: G - Genres: Angst, Drama - Warnings: [R] - Published: 2006-11-18 - Updated: 2006-11-18 - 580 words - Complete

AN/ This is my first try at a Prison Break fic. This is inspired from a scene in the film 'The Shawshank Redemption.' I don't own Prison Break or Shawshank. Dedicated to Bindi, who encouraged me to write a PB fic. I don't think she was expecting me to write one like this though.


Well, so far, so good. He's in Fox River. That's a step in the right direction. He just has to put the plan into motion.

Michael Scofield lay in his bunk, thoughts churning in his head. It was his first night in Fox River. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep well. His mind wouldn't stop going.

Michael sat up and moved off his bunk. He sat on the floor with his back to the wall. He twisted his neck so he could look out through the bars, still deep in thought. He spared a glance up to his sleeping cellmate.

He wonders what his cellmate is in for. What did he say his name was? Oh yeah, Sucre. He wonders if he's dangerous? He hopes he'll be able to trust him. If he can't then the plan is ruined.

"Hey, fish!" a harsh whisper called out from somewhere across the room. It was a prisoner in another cell. "Fishy, fishy! I'm a goin' fishin' tonight!"

Another prisoner joined him, their voices echoing in the darkness. "Fresh fish! Come and get 'em while they're fresh!"

"What are they doing?" Michael thought. He knew that 'fish' was the nickname for new comers in prison. He wasn't the only 'fish' there. This was the first night in prison for quite a few other people as well as himself.

More people joined the jeering. "Come on, fish! Doncha wish you could go home? Doncha wish you could be with your momma? I bet you wish your momma never fucked your daddy, doncha?"

"Fresh fish! Fresh fish..."

"I'm gonna have me some fish sticks! Yes sir, some nice juicy fish sticks..."

"Someone break out the tartar sauce!"

Michael closed his eyes, disgusted. What has he gotten himself into? Was it like this for Lincoln's first night?

"Hey, where's my pretty little fish stick, huh?"

"Here, fishy, fishy, fishy..."

"I'm gonna eat you up for dinner, fish!"

"Hey, fish! You don't belong here! We're gonna fry you up..."

"How long is it gonna take before your girl leaves you? I bet she's fucking another man right now..."

The taunting grew and grew until finally one of the newcomers cracked.

"Stop!" a new voice sobbed. "Please, stop it!"

The other prisoners laughed. "We have a winner!"

"Reel the sucker in!"

"We're gonna need the net!"

"Fresh fish! Fresh fish! Fresh fish!"

"Please..." the crying prisoner begged while the others chanted. "Please..."

Michael closed his eyes tightly, willing this all to just be a bad dream.

Suddenly a light turned on and one of the guards marched in. "Shut up! The lot of you!" he roared. "Or it's the SHU for every last one of you!" The room went obediently quiet. The guard grunted and left. The light clicked off again, leaving the room in uncomfortable dark. Things went quiet except for a few triumphant snickers and the whimpering of the broken man.

Michael sighed and crawled back into his bunk. He felt a small bit of comfort that his cellmate hadn't joined in on the cruel chanting. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, not looking forward to the morning.
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