Characters: Mitch and Jerome
Word count: 997
Extra notes: Mitch and Jerome are in a prison

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~Jerome's P.O.V.~

Poking at the pile of overly salted rice on my plate, a glum feeling hangs over me, and regrets begin to surface. I've done something horrible, something I never want to think of again, and now I'm stuck here in this prison, smacked down in the middle of a desert wasteland. Out of the over 3,000 men and women here, I know no one, and am left truly and utterly alone. This prison, from what I've seen in the day I've been here, isn't half bad. It's pretty clean, the food is decent, and the cells aren't as bad as you might think. But a prison is a prison, and though I still haven't been informed how long I'm supposed to be retained here, I have a gut feeling it'll feel small here once I get used to it. One thing I've noticed however, is that I haven't seen a single guard. Not one. And I know I haven't been here long, but it still sparks my curiosity, and I have a strong desire to find out where they are.

Glancing around the cafeteria, bustling with laughter and conversation, it doesn't take long for me to spot a guy sitting on his own, taking small bites of his own rice. He doesn't look too threatening compared to most other people here, and seeing the Canadian flag tattooed on his neck, I figure he'd be a good person to approach. I mean of course he's not here for no reason, but Canadians are known to be naturally friendly, so I pick up my tray of food and shift down the long bench to sit across from him. As I set my tray down, he glances up to acknowledge my presence, but then returns his gaze to his food. A name tag on his prison outfit reads 'Mitchell Hughes'. I clear my throat awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably on the spot.

"So um... What're you in for?" I ask, uncertain if that's an appropriate question to greet someone with.
"Killed my family and several friends." He replies bluntly, without looking up.
I stare at him with wide eyes. "Oh... Um. Neat...?"

Neat. Yeah, that's totally how you respond to something like that. Great going, Jerome.

Shaking my head, I press on, trying to ignore that moment. "Hey, do you know where all the guards are? I haven't seen any yet."
"There are none." He corrects, scooping another mouthful of rice into his mouth.
"There aren't any guards? At all?"
This time he finally looks up at me. "Not one. I mean, there are still care staff here... And there are still some basic rules, but there aren't any acutely guards here."
"But... If there aren't any guards... Then why doesn't everyone just walk out through the front door and escape?" I question, furrowing my eyebrows in confusion.
Mitch shurgs, "We're all too afraid to. We've had a couple people try, but they never make it."
"Never make it? What do you mean?"
"Honestly, I'm not really sure myself as to what happens to them. But every morning their bodies always show up at the front door. At least, whatever's left of them." Mitch adds in, scraping up the last few morsels on his plate.

I stare at him, lost, and slightly concerned. Is he trying to play a trick on me? Maybe he's secretly a guard and they do this to all the new prisoners, to try and scare them into obedience. It doesn't seem like it though. And Mitch, seeing the confusion in my eyes, decides to elaborate.

"There are things out there, things that shouldn't exist. No ones ever seen one and lived to tell the tale, but sometimes you can hear them at night, or catch glances out the window. They dropped you off here with a helicopter, right?"
"Yeah?"
"Well they did that for all the rest of us, too. There may not be any guards here, but this is probably the most guarded prison on earth. The only way in or out is by air, and once you're here, there's no leaving. No one will come to save you, and there's no way to make it past them."
"Wait, so, this is basically a life sentence then? We'll be stuck here for the rest of our lives?"
"Yes and no. Because we're free to try and escape if we want-no one here will stop us. But once you step foot out there, there's no going back." Mitch warns ominously, leaning back in his chair.

Frowning, a sinking feeling begins to form in my stomach. He seems serious, but the whole thing is honestly way too creepy for my liking. An unprotected prison where, if you try to escape, something kills you and drags your dead mauled body back here. All my mind think of is the image of zombies or something like that, shuffling around the desert, their ghastly cries filling the night. I shiver.

"Listen man." Mitch continues, leaning forward, his face dead serious. "I know it might be hard to believe, but take it from me, the monsters that lurk out there will find you, and they will kill you if you leave."

And with that he stands, pats me on the shoulder, and begins to walk away. Abruptly shooting up, alarm shooting through me, I'm determined to get one final answer.

"Wait!" I call after him, reaching a hand out.

He turns back, raising an eyebrow.

"How do you know all this?" I ask, dropping my hand.
He gives a little half smile. "Because I'm the only one who's been out there, and by some miracle made it back here alive."

And it's for the first time, as he walks away, do I notice the big ugly scars on the back of his neck, his missing arm, and the plastic of a prosthetic leg.

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