I do not own Hidekaz Himaruya, therefore I do not own Hetalia. Sad face. Think of the writing style as a person's thoughts, but with more description.
Enjoy! (R & R would be appreciated)
Seriously, what was it with society these days? So I robbed a bank and shot a teller…what are ya gonna do, jail me?
"Miss Morrison, you are guilty of robbery and murder in the first degree and you will serve your sentence in the woman's prison of Nitella Fields Penitentiary for 35 years without parole."
The sound of a gauntlet on wood, that's what breaks people. Knowing you have no where left to go, you have no other options, your fate is sealed. I stood with my pride and spat on the bottom of the judge's stand. It wasn't my first time doing that; practice makes perfect, after all.
I get moved, mostly shoved, into a sickly white van filled with even sicker people. They don't have a disease but they're crazy alright. The shackles on me hurt, the metal rubbing against my soft skin. I was used to this but it still hurt, still made me feel a little fear. Prison was nothing, but the ride over was hell. Everyone's saying they were innocent, the judge was bribed, all that crap about how men shouldn't be so hard on us females. I stay quiet and look out the window, staring at mooing cows and plowing farmers. It's a lot better than pouring my sob story out to a bunch of strangers.
The sight of the place is huge, clearly defined. The big cement walls and metal gates reminds everyone that we're not in a dream, that this is reality. Ain't no game, just a way of life. The first-comers let tears fall silently from their eyes, and they all look down. Survivors like me hold our heads high and keep our noses up as the wide doors in the back are opened. A grim looking guy opens the doors and gives us the look of disappointment, telling us that we've all been bad girls. I crack a smile at that and he gives me the slightest twitch of the eyebrow. These guys are the Emotionals, the people that won't change face even if their lover shot themselves in the cranium right in front of them. In a way they're like the guards at the Royal Palace or Whatever It's Called in Britain, looking stiff and always on attention. Unlike the black-stacked hat wearing British guards though you can't mess with these guys, unless you want to get your arms broken.
The Emotional pushes me out first, a sign that I'm the least dangerous. All I did was shoot a guy after all. I walk with the connected chains and stare at the sun, which is beating down hard on all us sinners. That's what we are, all we are. Sinners and screw-ups, women who weren't the ideal girls of society. When we walk there aren't any catcalls like you'd expect, just shouts and jabbers from the other inmates. They all smile and grin at our pitiful look, and I search for the alpha. They don't have one. Not yet.
We get through the humiliation part, the part where everyone spits on you and says your worthless. I wipe off the saliva and stay ahead, eyes looking toward the next obstacle: meeting the guards.
Prison guards vary. You got your softies on one hand, then you got your strict ones on the others. Either way they're a pain in the ass. I trudge in front of the others and try to find out what they'll all look like, good-looking or bad-looking. The bad-looking ones are the easy ones to trick, since they don't got any real ladies going after them. You just send them a blow-kiss and sweet whisper and they're yours, hook line and sinker. Good-looking ones are more cunning but are more likely inexperienced and don't notice a stolen key. Easy pickings.
Doors open and our torture men are revealed, wearing tidy uniforms and giving the death glare. They are the good-looking, but also the strict. Something you don't see mixed. They all got different looks, different ethnicities, and no doubt different personalities. I can feel the others drooling beside me, the perverted dogs. I stay stoic and wait for the Warden, the cream of the crop, the main honcho.
He comes out with noisy shoes, clacking up and down the cement floor. His hair is dirty blonde and he gives all of us an equally dirty look filled slightly with seduction. The green eyes gleam with sadism and the light chuckle sends bad and good shivers up and down your spine. This Warden is different from the others, that's for sure. One of the girls beside me squeals. Big mistake.
Sweeping over to her, the Warden places a delicate hand under the girl's chin and smirks at her, drawing his face close. The girl's knees wobble and she starts shaking. He chuckles and lets her go, the other guards laughing when she faints. The magic of men is simply wonderous. He makes a move on me, exercising his abilities.
"The leather gloves are a nice touch," I comment, smirking back at him as smugly as he is at me. For a second he looks like he's about to be surprised, but then it's replaced by cold hatred. Yes, the freezing feeling of being despised for the crime you've committed. It can break a person, but I became unbreakable after five sentences, all of which I escaped with a false name. The only thing that could be broken now was my bones.
The Warden lets go and clears his throat, and starts explaining about all the regulations and restrictions and procedures of his prison. The other inmates stop trembling and start paying attention, not making googly eyes at the attractive prison guards anymore. I pay attention to the recreation outside, finding out what we inmates are to do for fun. There's a wide area where we can talk and a four-step bleacher, but that's about it. Anything else and we'll chip a nail.
One of the guards, tall and bleach blonde, leads us to our cells. This is when the newbies start whimpering. One of them hits on the blonde guard, to which he replies with a swift death glare that causes her to lay an egg. She doesn't literally lay one but her face tells it all. Rejection must hurt, especially when you know you won't get any love for five plus years.
My cell is on the second floor, a few bars away from a light. That means I have the chance to start the system again. I see the essentials, the toilet and the bed and the sink, and smile to myself. Home sweet home. The guard pushes me in and I stand in the middle of the room. He leaves me alone and I take my alone time to think, something I'll have a lot of. The system will work here, if used right. The system is what has kept me from going insane all these years.
It's already time for us to lockdown and go to bed. This is the test of courage, the test of womanhood. If you don't break the first night you make it and prove you're more than a flapper girl. If you do break down you either have to go insane and get transferred to the crazy place or find a way to commit suicide. The prison ways for men are about the same here, and the top dogs will prey on the weak ones, tearing apart their soft mentality until they're nothing but a shell of themselves.
An hour after the lights go out everything stays silent, and people pretend to go to sleep. Forget who they are and where they are. The most skilled pass out right away, but the strongest wait for the weakest link to break. I wait for the weakest link to break.
The first cry is heard, for their boyfriend. It comes from the opposite side of where I am and is on the ground floor, the worst place to be. There everyone can just look down and glare at you. The first mockery is made and a holler of laughter follows. The taunting starts and the girl sobs loudly, drawing the guards in. They bang their batons on the black bars and everyone who's smart goes silent. The girl keeps sobbing and they stand next to her cell, waiting for her to quiet down. She doesn't. One of them, with slick back blonde hair and muscular arms, threatens solitary confinement. She doesn't stop. The man, looking of German blood, drags her out and marches her through one of the halls. His companion follows him and shoots a flirtatious glance at us and swoons are seen. He chuckles to himself and turns the lights off again. I take the rest of the night for sleep.
Morning is strategic, very important. Who will you sit with? Who will you talk to? Whose food will you steal? I take the smallest portion and sit next to the girl who made the first joke last night, not saying anything. She glares me down and asks in a southern drawl what I'm doing at their table. I smile at her and say that I'm claiming it. She's the type to fight right now, right here. She has the scars to prove that fact. She slams my face into the oatmeal, and I slam her face onto the floor and twist her arm back. She cries mercy and I'm soon established as the freak.
No one talks to me during work time. I press and clean clothes silently before a big, muscly woman comes over and elbows me.
"You not half-bad."
Her tone is illiterate and she looks like it. Her skin is dark-brown and her black hair is poofy from the humidity of the work room. I snap the shirt in my hands, fold it, and hold out my hand and grab hers to shake it.
"Amelia Morrison. Here for robbery and first degree murder."
The serious look in my eyes gives her the message that I do what I want to do, and she smiles.
"Marlene Brown. Here for first degree arson and three counts of first degree murder."
"What'd you burn?"
"An orphanage. Three kids were caught in it and died."
The steam from the water boiler makes me sweat and I wipe it off with a dirty hand. My brown curls cling to my forehead and I feel sweaty all over. Marlene says nothing else, just stands next to me and washes clothes. I tell her that it's messed up she burned an orphange, and she smiles and says it's not difference from robbing a bank. I can tell we're gonna be good friends.
Recreation starts when we're let out in the open, and the girl who I fought before brings her minions over to plan to jump me. I walk up the bleachers and watch the windows for the Warden.
I catch the green eyes staring at me, the pure distaste easily distinguishable. He already hates me. Good. I won't feel as bad when I knock him out for my escape. I wink at him and he turns away. I feel a jab in my side and turn to see the girl from before glaring at me, her blue eyes full of bloodlust. I smile. It's fun asserting my dominance.
She slaps me. I slap her, harder. She readies a punch and I twist her arm around, bringing it up so it'll break. She cries out and I let go, and she tries headbutting me. I step to the side and trip her, and then watch with satisfaction as she falls straight to the ground. A crowd has now gathered. Newbie versus Jailbitch, a prize fight they've never seen before. It's not much of a fight anymore, with her lip bleeding and a bruise on her cheek. I ball my fist up and square her straight at the jaw, watching in slow motion as a tooth escapes her mouth and floats to the ground floor. She stumbles and then cries out a few unladylike words and charges me again. I take my stance and am about to roundhouse kick her when one of the guards, a sweet-looking Russian, literally picks her up and perches her on his shoulder. She growls at me but can't say anything to the big man. I wait patiently as a ticked-off Italian looks me over with disgust. The girl is walked over to the clinic to get medical help and I'm sentenced to two days of solitary confinement, along with a meeting with the Warden.
I take the charge with silence and trot softly into the solitary confinement room, surrounded entirely by cement. When the door closes I imagine the darkness as the night sky with bright stars all around.
Reputation builds when you make the first bold move. You appear to be the girl of all badass, the girl who you would trust with your life. I've been on the top for all my jail sentences and am used to the popularity. When I get out no one will talk to me, but they will respect me. The fear and dismal admiration makes people like that. I play the scenarios of my ascent to the throne of alpha and smile to myself, seeing I'll make it to there regardless of what happens next. I will be the alpha, the controller of everything involving the inmates. Then, the system will start again.
Hours pass by me and are filled with the lustful desires of a twenty-seven year old woman. I picture the sex, the money, the fame, the houses, the life of a girl who has it all. Living like a queen is impossible now but it's not hard to envision it. The walls confine my body but not my imagination.
Day and night are inconceiveable. Darkness is everywhere, and I like to pretend that I'm back on the grassy hills watching fireworks on the Fourth of July. The only thing missing are the fireflies, but I don't miss them. I don't miss anything from my past.
After a few hours the blonde-one opens the door and calls me out, surprisingly giving me a charismatic smile. I walk out and take one glance back, blinking back in the starry night. He leads me through hallways and past doors that contain offices, clinics, and incinerators. He stops at a door with big handles. I assume that it's the Warden's office. His black gloves wrap around the metal and pulls it open, and I step casually in. Acting calm and composed is better than acting shameful and innocent.
Feet perched on the table, leaning to the left with a grin on the right, the Warden looked more like a delinquet than I did. I studied him for a moment more before sitting down in the wooden chair in front of me. His eyes watched me like the predator watches his prey.
"Your second day and you've already gotten into a fight, hm?"
His accent wasn't deep Southern, more of a Queen's English type. Not to mention his eyebrows looked like caterpillars that had laid down symetrically and died there.
"Did I impress you?"
I smile flirtatiously at him, batting my eyelashes. He's not the type to get fazed by girls like me but he'll flirt back, which is more entertaining. He smiles back as expected and leans forward.
"In some ways, yes. No woman has been able to do such manly moves before."
"You're pulling out the sexist card now? How childlish."
"That's not the type of thing you'd say to your superior."
My grin widens and I lean on the table closer to him, able to hear him breathe.
"You don't know me as well as you think you do, warden."
"Kirkland. My name is Kirkland, inmate."
He says with a straight face, pulling back. I bring out my hand for him to shake but he doesn't make a move. I slide it down back to my side and stare out the window. Recreation is going on now, and I see the blue-eyed girl sitting alone on a bench. You'd expect her to be crowded by friends, but with her pride hurt she probably snapped at them constantly and drove them away. Now was the time for me to set-up the system and take control of the prison.
Kirkland noticed my staring and slipped his hand under my chin, perking it up.
"Keep those pretty eyes to me, inmate, not outside. Now keep your hands off your comrades or you'll all get punished next time, got it?"
I smirked as his hand left my chin and I settled it on top of my positioned hands. Keep your cool, no matter what. Agree with what he says but keep the mood going, that's the only way to get past the proffesionalism.
"Of course, warden."
"Call me Kirkland."
"Of course, warden."
Kirkland was obviously angry that I was disrespecting him but sent me away anyway, preoccupied with the mess of paperwork on his desk. Before I left our eyes met and I made sure to blow him a kiss as I left. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him wave it off, but with a grin.
I get escorted by a Chinese to the outside area to interact. He leaves me with a scowl. Every pair of inmates eyes are on me, exaimining me. They wonder what I'll do next, who I'll kill next. Tension rises as thoughts become more dramatic and I take the first step forward. I see flinching and cringing from the others but they don't move, don't speak. More steps. Up to the bleachers. Marlene is sitting up there and watching me like an eagle.
"So you out, huh?"
She doesn't sound impressed, just indifferent. Like she expected it from me at the start. She knows who I am and I know who she is. She is the brawn while I am the brains, although I have more strength than the usual brainiac. Survival and years of prison life has helped us both with first impressions and we already know we'll get along.
"Yeah, and I got a hit from the warden too."
"Don't mess with him."
The expression on her face remains serious as we talk, not even close to breaking the ice and smiling. That's alright, that's what I presumed from her anyway. A smile would make her bendable, weak. I didn't want a weak friend, I wanted a dependable one.
"You up for a partnership?"
"Depends on what it is."
This is it, the moment when the system is established. Once I explain it or even mention it there's no looking back. I take my time to explain how it works and then wait for her to agree. Marlene blinks only twice while I explain, standing stiff on the concrete bleachers and glancing at the girls below us. I already know that they're staring at me. Eyes of fear, admiration, and spite. Their opinion of me has changed substantially. Soon I will be the alpha, in charge of henchwomen and giving orders that the guards won't notice. No one will dare disobey me.
I finish my plan, my system. I gaze into the dark-brown eyes, expectant yet patient. She stares into the sky, following a seagull from the coast as it floats across the gates and out into the free land. The land that I will eventually be running across, screaming my independence. The land that is filled with opportunity and freedom and happiness and new beginnings and romance and a new life. She turns to me, curly black hair bobbing against her cheek ever so faintly.
"I'll do it."