Puebla, Mexico

Richard could never adjust to prison life—prison was not his natural habitat. On the first day he spent three hours outside in the hot Mexican sun slamming rake into the grass while a guard's watched over him on steads. Richard was never a fan of horses. Mostly because the horses always almost killed him…one time he was walking down the street, two people riding horses show up. The horses see him and kick their hooves at him. There other incidents where he and the horses were in paddock's.

Richard could still taste the cigarette he smoked yesterday in his mouth. He also took five shots of brandy on the boat. The booze helped him with the onslaught on that boat. There were so many things he wished he could have avoided—his ex-girlfriend/assassin, his fat ass boss, the dancing, those stupid games they played, and the dumb music not Classical music they played—but he was young, stupid, and thought taking that cruise would be a good way to suck-up to his boss, who was now dead.

XXX

Richard was still hot, but he was sent to work in the kitchen. Many things about prison kitchen scared Richard. One was how they made inmates help prepare the food, how this kitchen had headless chickens hanging by a string, and there was the chef himself. The chef was a disgusting man. His ascot and apron didn't make him seem any friendlier. The chef's potbelly looked like a large dodge ball, his face was covered in warts that almost looked like algae, and his teeth were filled with gingivitis.

A prisoner carrying a heavy box made his way into the pantry. The chef was sitting on a barstool eating a loaf of bread. Richard grimaced at the chef, who returned the disgust by spitting a part of his chewed bread in a trash can. Richard walked up to sink.

Sanitation came first when cooking. Richard put a hair net over his short red hair, then turned on the tap. Richard poured the soap over his dry, probably germ filled hands, and then he washed them in the sink.

The man who was carrying the box was a Russian. He was in his mid-forties, with chiselled lips. His hair was lilac with receiving white lines he painted on—beautiful hair kept tucked up inside a hairnet. The man also had a long scar under his right eye and another one on his right jaw line.

The man's back hurt. Before he was in prison he needed muscle relaxer's to help with the pain. Carrying heavy boxes in a kitchen just made the pain worse. The man was also starving. In a small green box was a pack of chocolate. The man grabbed the chocolate.

The man sticked the chocolate in his hairnet. The man walked towards the door, only to bump into something hard and squishy. The man saw a wart…he was pushed on the ground. The chef was on top of him trying to strangle the man to death.

The man couldn't overpower the chef. He was too big and too fat. His angry face reminded the man of a warthog. His intestines were crushed under the massive weight of the chefs' potbelly. Before the man was crushed by the chef Richard appeared. He ran up behind the chef and grabbed his knife from his belt, and held the knife near the chef's fat neck. Richard could slit the fat chef's with one move.

" Let him go, pig."

The chef let go of the man's neck. The man quickly ran out of the pantry and out of the kitchen. Richard moved his knife away from the chef. The chef tried attacking Richard with his hands up, but Richard was still holding the knife. If the chef got any closer Richard would stab him.

" You fucking coward—"

" Now here's a little saying to remember. Getting revenge on bullies is never the way to go. High school probably wasn't the best times for you. They called you a lard ass, didn't they? Probably got a girl to pretend to like you, take you to a special spot, only to have your pants down and the entire football team laughing at you…that was you, wasn't it? Guess what? Life's not some fuckin' movie. There's no main character, there's no protagonist's, and people don't always get what they want from being nice. Now there's something to cook on."

" What the hell is going on in here? Why is there so much yelling?"

The warden walked into the kitchen with three other guards. Each one had a firearm. The other prisoners were scared. They raised their hands up hoping not to be shot. The warden couldn't believe his eyes—a prisoner was holding a knife up to a chef's neck. Richard quickly dropped the knife and held his hands up. The warden put both his hands to his thighs and took a deep breath of air in his nostrils and out.

" Don't like to work in the kitchen, eh? What do you have against my penitentiary? In the hole—two weeks."