Disclaimer- I do not own Holes. Or holes. Holes and holes were each invented by someone else. If you didn't know that, I suggest you dig yourself into the one of the things that you think I invented.
Roger stared out the bus window, recalling his horrible fate. He had just been in the wrong place at the wrong place, that was all. Or maybe not. He didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore. All he remembered was his so-called friend Drake telling him to get something. All he had to do was run in the store, grab the chain, and run back. Drake had left it in the store, he said. They wouldn't let him get it back. Just run, grab the chain, run back. Run, grab, run. Seemed simple enough.
He never knew what he was really doing until it was too late. Never heard the alarms, couldn't read the price tag that was still on the pretty chain that supposedly belonged to his friend.
Next thing he knew, he was arrested.
He had never even considered that the chain did not belong to Drake, and that his "friend" was taking advantage of him. All he thought was, I have to get this chain. It belongs to my good friend and these bad people won't give it back. He didn't have any clue that he had stolen something until he saw the police.
Suddenly, understanding hit him. This wasn't a chain. This was a golden necklace, worth at least $1500. Drake had wanted that necklace, wanted it so bad that he took advantage of Rogers' low I.Q to get it for him.
The guard on the bus turned to Roger. "Ain't talking much, are ya?". Roger turned and glared at him. Obviously he wasn't going to talk. He was on his way to some stupid old camp for a crime he didn't even know he commited. What did the guard expect him to do, jump up and go "Howdy"?
The guard sneered. "Nah, guess not. Most of them don't. But ya gotta keep a positive attitude for Camp Greenlake, son."
Roger was pretty much aware of this. From what he had heard, Camp Greenlake wasn't the best place to go. Some people had actually advised him to take jail instead when he got to court. But what was he supposed to do in jail? He wasn't much good at lifting weights or cooking gruel. He didn't want to just sit on his cot and think because he didn't quite like thinking, either. It confused him. Sometimes it even drove him nuts, what with the 872% of 1000 and how to spell the names of Indian tribes that lived about 300000 years ago. He believed it was better to just think simple. Simple would get you places.
Drake used to be in his old school, before he started to go to that dumb special school of his. He was always joking and fooling around, sometimes hanging out with Roger with his other friends. For some reason Roger couldn't quite comprehend, Drake and his crew always laughed whenever he did something, like tripping over a root or dancing funny. He didn't care; it felt good to be a comedian.
The sudden stop of the bus brought Roger to his senses. "Time to get off, now," the guard sneered. Roger obediently trudged off, looking into his surroundings.
Everything was dust and desert as far as the eye could see. Boys of all colors and sizes looped far and wide in front of him, each digging a hole. I wonder why, thought Roger. Maybe it's part of the activities here. He knew that they weren't really "activities" but he couldn't quite put his finger on what they really were. Punishments, maybe.
"Come on," growled the guard, dragging Roger into a nearby run-down shack-like cabin.
Inside the cabin was a man, smoking a cigarette(A/N: Yes I know he quit, but this takes place way before Stanley's arrival!) and leering profoundly. He smiled in a way that made Roger almost want to throw up. "So, you're the new guy, eh?" he crowed. "We been expectin ya. You're the jewlery theif, aintcha?" Roger blinked. "Well, I dont rightly know. I dont think so. Ain't sure."
The man seemed amused in an odd way. "Well, you oughta know if yeh've stolen sumthin or other..."
The guard sighed. "Mr. Sir, I'll be leavin this rogue with you now. I gotta go pick up more trouble makin boys. Ain't a good season for bein' good."
Mr. Sir waved clumsily, then turned to Roger. "All right, boy...put on these clothes and you'll be all ready..." Roger raised an eyebrow. "Ready fer what, sir?"
The man waved him on. "That's Mr. Sir to you, boy. And the clothes er fer diggin' holes. That's all yer gonna be doin' here, so you betta get used to it."
Roger stared out the bus window, recalling his horrible fate. He had just been in the wrong place at the wrong place, that was all. Or maybe not. He didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore. All he remembered was his so-called friend Drake telling him to get something. All he had to do was run in the store, grab the chain, and run back. Drake had left it in the store, he said. They wouldn't let him get it back. Just run, grab the chain, run back. Run, grab, run. Seemed simple enough.
He never knew what he was really doing until it was too late. Never heard the alarms, couldn't read the price tag that was still on the pretty chain that supposedly belonged to his friend.
Next thing he knew, he was arrested.
He had never even considered that the chain did not belong to Drake, and that his "friend" was taking advantage of him. All he thought was, I have to get this chain. It belongs to my good friend and these bad people won't give it back. He didn't have any clue that he had stolen something until he saw the police.
Suddenly, understanding hit him. This wasn't a chain. This was a golden necklace, worth at least $1500. Drake had wanted that necklace, wanted it so bad that he took advantage of Rogers' low I.Q to get it for him.
The guard on the bus turned to Roger. "Ain't talking much, are ya?". Roger turned and glared at him. Obviously he wasn't going to talk. He was on his way to some stupid old camp for a crime he didn't even know he commited. What did the guard expect him to do, jump up and go "Howdy"?
The guard sneered. "Nah, guess not. Most of them don't. But ya gotta keep a positive attitude for Camp Greenlake, son."
Roger was pretty much aware of this. From what he had heard, Camp Greenlake wasn't the best place to go. Some people had actually advised him to take jail instead when he got to court. But what was he supposed to do in jail? He wasn't much good at lifting weights or cooking gruel. He didn't want to just sit on his cot and think because he didn't quite like thinking, either. It confused him. Sometimes it even drove him nuts, what with the 872% of 1000 and how to spell the names of Indian tribes that lived about 300000 years ago. He believed it was better to just think simple. Simple would get you places.
Drake used to be in his old school, before he started to go to that dumb special school of his. He was always joking and fooling around, sometimes hanging out with Roger with his other friends. For some reason Roger couldn't quite comprehend, Drake and his crew always laughed whenever he did something, like tripping over a root or dancing funny. He didn't care; it felt good to be a comedian.
The sudden stop of the bus brought Roger to his senses. "Time to get off, now," the guard sneered. Roger obediently trudged off, looking into his surroundings.
Everything was dust and desert as far as the eye could see. Boys of all colors and sizes looped far and wide in front of him, each digging a hole. I wonder why, thought Roger. Maybe it's part of the activities here. He knew that they weren't really "activities" but he couldn't quite put his finger on what they really were. Punishments, maybe.
"Come on," growled the guard, dragging Roger into a nearby run-down shack-like cabin.
Inside the cabin was a man, smoking a cigarette(A/N: Yes I know he quit, but this takes place way before Stanley's arrival!) and leering profoundly. He smiled in a way that made Roger almost want to throw up. "So, you're the new guy, eh?" he crowed. "We been expectin ya. You're the jewlery theif, aintcha?" Roger blinked. "Well, I dont rightly know. I dont think so. Ain't sure."
The man seemed amused in an odd way. "Well, you oughta know if yeh've stolen sumthin or other..."
The guard sighed. "Mr. Sir, I'll be leavin this rogue with you now. I gotta go pick up more trouble makin boys. Ain't a good season for bein' good."
Mr. Sir waved clumsily, then turned to Roger. "All right, boy...put on these clothes and you'll be all ready..." Roger raised an eyebrow. "Ready fer what, sir?"
The man waved him on. "That's Mr. Sir to you, boy. And the clothes er fer diggin' holes. That's all yer gonna be doin' here, so you betta get used to it."
