Diamonds Are Unbreakable
The Story of Kitty Baxter
By Vivian Chanson
"I don't belong here, I don't belong here, I don't belong..."
Kitty Baxter sat in her cellblock, the cruel voices of her own mind tearing her to pieces. She had been there long enough for the shock to wear off, but the harsh and ruthless anger that blood lust could not satisfy remained, and the voices did as well.
"What must this city think of me? Will life ever be the same again? What am I doing here? What am I doing here? I can't be here! I don't belong here! I don't belong!"
And the voices were quite right; she didn't belong. It was true that she had shot her husband and both of the women in bed with him in blind rage. And who wouldn't have done the same? Anger was like love, or perhaps they were the same thing, Kitty thought bitterly to herself. Neither of them allowed insight or answered to reason, and both of them were as blind as they were painful.
But despite any justifications she could cushion her shame and self-hatred with, she knew it was true that she had committed a murder, a crime, a sin, and for that she deserved to be sitting there in the musty cell on her rock- hard cot. It was true that she was supposed to be there, she knew that, but was still far from accepting it. But that was a completely different thing from belonging there.
And belong; it was true that she didn't. She was very much out of place, a snow white dove in precious stones among the mundane gray of the rest of the cellblock flock. And she saw the way the other inmates glared at her, heard them talking, laughing in scorn at this rich, hoity-toity, high-class snob, finally pushed off her high horse and into the real world by the same little problems of life that plagued them, the mere peasants. How sadistic was their laughter that this highborn broad has been stomped down to their level by life's brigade of angry mobs.
And admittedly, few were the times that Kitty managed to keep herself from rising to their baits. Despite her excellence in all other categories, if there as one thing Kitty Baxter's old governess, rest her tormented soul, had never fully managed to teach her, it was how to control her temper under pressure.
Luckily, in her lavish and sheltered existence, this imperfection was rarely ever tested. The rich life had suited Kitty and she had suited it back in return. But now, her temper was looser than it had ever been in her perfumed and dilemma-free life. She wasn't used to cold, harsh reality she faced in the prison life, and problems seemed to only deepen the flaws in Kitty Baxter's exterior perfection. After all, Kitty Baxter had been a woman who had always had everything she wanted. It was a long way to fall.
She wondered to herself, among the melancholy drumbeat of dripping water, how long she had been in this hell. The days had run together, but she at least knew it had been several days, although how many she could not say. Her expensive lawyer had come and gone, each time enduring more curses and unprovoked verbal abuse on Kitty's part. It had been the philosophy of her mother that lawyers, and many other people besides them, were thieves and not to be trusted, and in her current temperament, Kitty was inclined to agree.
She had also been there long enough to see a new murderess escorted in, through the slited vision of her cell bars. The new prisoner was dark and sultry, sullen and silent, face a mask of pure blank defiance, beautiful in terrible way. But the thing that struck Kitty about her was that she was so young, hardly more than a child. Yet the girl had a face of ice, the face of one who has become used to looking at death. There was such an intensity in the silence of her weather-worn face. It was an intensity that no one so young should have.
By night, Kitty could hear her tortured screaming, brought uncensored to the surface by her dreams. But Kitty had been in this foreign and separate world long enough to learn a few of the ground rules. And Rule Number One was that in the Cook County Jail, you kept your eyes down.
Kitty had existed in this fashion for a while now, cursing, raging, and fighting anything she could make her enemy by day, and crying by night. She cried, despite herself, for her lost husband, for her lost life, and for the day her perfect world had been sent tumbling down. Yet as she wept, she clutching the diamond at her throat, subtle my comparison with the rest of her extravagant jewels, but small and strong, nonetheless. It looked as fragile as glass to the naked eye, as if it would shatter if dropped from the slightest height, but Kitty knew better. Nothing would shatter a diamond. Of this she reminded herself every night, diamond pendant locked tightly in her clutching fist, spreading warmth throughout her trembling body.
Diamonds are the strongest stone...
A/N: You'll be seeing more as far as fics from me soon, because I recently stayed up all night on a caffeine high and came up with about five story ideas in the process. So, yay, more metaphors and "innocent" characters for me to play with! The only problem will be updating them regularly... And so, you might have guessed what I'm about to say next. If you're slow, I'll tell you now: Reviews will help updates happen! The future is in your hands! Wow, that sounded tre Star Trek/Wars-esque. Well, while I'm at it, may the force be with you! And remember; REVIEW! Yay, I made a rhyme! Regards, Viv