1
Thoughts
Wild Alex
Paul sat lonely in the ample and comfortable kitchen in front of a good couple of hot milk and rusks while his wife, the sweet Janice, still was sleeping peacefully in the bedroom upstairs. The radio broadcast a gentle and dreamy music, it would be classic music, but Paul didn't pay a special attention to it. His thoughts were plunged in a myriad of problems much complex and no simple to resolve. Arlene Bitterbuck's execution was perfect, he couldn't doubt about this, but still there were particular situations that disturbed him not a little. Principally, the hateful and unbearable presence of the young Percy Wetmore, that oppressed and mistreated any inmate in the death row or to offend, sometimes with obscene tones too, his co- workers, not caring about troubles that he would have to obtain to himself and, in consequence, to Paul and the others. Because the governor, and also Percy's uncle, wouldn't have hesitated to give them hell, if only they had dared harm a hair to his beloved nephew. Secondly, the coming of Billy the Kid, alias William Wharton, a young psychopath all pimples and no sanity, that was proud of his wickedness and of each boasting that he had the opportunity to carry out. Paul remembered perfectly when, arrived into the penitentiary guarded by Percy, Harry Terwilliger and Dean Stanton, Billy the Kid tried to strangle the latter with those same handcuffs that had to keep him quiet. 'He was a rage" Paul thought. Certainly, he would have send Dean to the other world if Brutus Howell (Brutal for his friends) hadn't intervened to calm Wharton's overwhelming aggressiveness. Percy, after to be gathered aback by the made boy with a resounding punch to his bottom lip, afraid, decided to not move a finger and to not help the poor prison guards that got ready to save Dean Stanton's life, confused and already sure that he wouldn't have seen again sunshine. Billy the Kid was beaten by Brutal with one blow of Percy's baton, his favourite arm, that decided to not use in that moment. Then he was taken into a free jail cell, with a filthy bed formerly snow white like shining lilies under a pale June's sun and a filthy small lavatory , like decaying trash. His thoughts were interrupted by some curious steps down the stairs. Janice. The woman appeared in all her simple beauty, wearing a graceful pink dressing – gown and comfortable slippers of the same colour. Her soft blond hair were barely ruffled and framed plump and rosy face of the beautiful Janice. "Are you already standing, honey?" the woman began, smiling tenderly at her husband, that was absorbed into magnificence and charm of Janice's blue eyes, bright and patient. She sat next to him and hugged him with all her love. Paul reciprocated and kissed gently her head, without never stop to leave her. Then he decided to answer to the question that the wife expressed just before: "Paul wanted to tell you that many and intricate thoughts crowd his well – balanced and awake mind. And soon his duty calls him. Thank you for your interest." Janice laughed until the tears, followed almost immediately by Paul, that held her stronger. Together, they had breakfast, while the radio broadcast "La gazza ladra" by Gioacchino Rossini. After, he got ready with dignity for a new day's work and greeted his wife with a tender kiss. 'I hope Hal doesn't call me for a new inmate's coming' he thought, while he covered that short way that would have taken, after few minutes, in the impressive structure that Cold Mountain penitentiary was. 'And I hope that Wharton is good finally. But, especially, that John Coffey stops to whine like a sissy.'