For 2D, who did a spectacular job meeting her goals in round 6.
"You expect me to wear that again?" I look down at the orange jumpsuit in disgust, flicking my curly black hair dramatically over my shoulder. The orange garment is neon and bright, in short it's absolutely hideous, and yet it's the only thing I've worn for the past month. This hideous piece of clothing something I wouldn't even think about wearing of my own free will. Though I guess none of this includes even a smidgen of free will.
Prison is insufferable, or so I've deducted. There is no leeway, no bending of the rules, there are guidelines that must be stuck to at all costs. And thus, despite my two hour refusal to wear the damned thing, here it is, my only article of clothing. I look down again at my stack of clothes, letting out a groan as I see the hairnet thrown on top. I have kitchen duty.
I let out a sigh not even an hour later, standing behind the shabby cafeteria counter, trying to push my abundance of curls into the small net I've been given. Lunch starts shortly, prisoners filing in, guards and psychiatrists looking awkward and out of place as they follow suit. I serve my half, which consists mostly of my fellow inmates, though there is the occasional guard who looks questioningly down at what I've given them.
It's no surprise, nor am I offended that they do so. For all they know I could have poisoned the food, I honestly would have if I'd gotten my hands on any sort of poison. I could have done something awful to the food and they would never know until it was too late. These gently murderous thoughts swirl my mind, before I'm brought back to the present by a soft, warm voice.
"Hello, would I be able to have a mash instead of fries?" It's my psychiatrist, a lovely woman who I've grown awfully fond of in my month here. Visiting her is my favorite part of the day. I smile at her, obliging her request as all the horrible thoughts trickle out of my mind. Forgotten for the time being.
"Don't forget our meeting later, you wouldn't want to miss it." She says, her eyes filled with laughter as she saunters away. It's a joke of hers, one I've grown rather fond of, if I'm being completely honest. She and I both know it's impossible for me to be late to our meetings, as they, just like everything else around here, are scheduled and enforced to be exactly on time.
Relief washes over me as the bell rings, signaling that lunch is finally over. I gladly slip out of the apron and hairnet I've been wearing for the past hour, shaking my head to free my curls and letting a smile slip onto my face. A guard walks up to me, his glasses slightly askew, a scowl on his face. We walk silently to the psychiatrist's ward, where each psychiatrist's office is located, stopping outside a bright purple door. The guard knocks twice, rapping sharply on the door, the sound echoing throughout the quiet corridor.
A head of dirty blonde hair peeks out from behind the door, a wide smile adorning the woman's features. I stare blankly as I'm ushered into her office, the locking of the door signalling our time has begun.
"Hello again Miss Longbottom," I drawl, to which she just laughs. Even after her laughter subsides a smile still shines brightly on her face. Her smiles, I've found out, are terribly contagious. The corners of my mouth creeps upwards into a smile, mirroring the one on her face.
"Really Bella? I thought we were past the formalities by now." My smile grows into a grin as she looks me dead in the eyes, her eyes bright with laughter. Conversation moves on, she talks about mandatory things, like why my mind decided it would be a good idea to torture three people, if I feel the insanity plea really works for my case, and other dull things. But then the conversation becomes lighter as we laugh and talk, she tells me about how the world is, what major events are going on, how her cats are. And I in turn tell her about my mundane day, which she takes a shocking amount of interest in, despite it being the same thing every time she asks.
Our time comes to an end far too soon for my liking, as the glasses-wearing guard returns to escort me back to my cell. Dinner will be given to me in exactly an hour I realize, as I steal a glance at the watch on another guard's wrist. I sit in my cell waiting for someone to arrive, just like they always do, and slide the tray into my small room. I'm doomed, I realize as I sit in silence, staring down at the orange jumpsuit with my name. Bellatrix B. My life sentence has only just begun, and I'm already bored out of my mind.
I sigh as a tray of food is slipped under my door, this is going to be hell. Though I suppose every fall from grace must have some sort of salvation, something that keeps a person from losing it completely and giving in fully to the darkness that's trying to take over their soul. Mine must be like that too, I think with a smile, after all I think I've already found my salvation.
And her name is Alice Longbottom.