DISCLAIMER: Much to my chagrin, I don't own any of these characters. Property of SHED Productions.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written as part of the Alphabet Soup Challenge.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
From the moment they bang you up, it's all about control. No, I suppose that's wrong, innit? If I'm honest with myself, it started much sooner. From the moment I walked in and saw Trish with tears in her eyes and that bastard Gossard with a leer on his face and his hand between her legs, I lost control and I've never gotten it back. Now, here I am, stuck in a shit hole where they tell me when to wake up, when to wash up, when to eat, when to work, when to go to sleep. If they could, they'd bloody well tell us when to breathe. Anyone who doesn't think prison time is punishment enough for even the worst of crimes has never spent a day without freedom. Everything in this place is designed to strip you of any sliver of imagination, from the walls to the food to the routine. I watch women hold fast to anything that makes them individuals, anything that takes them out of this place. The drugs, the sex, their family, their futures.
That's what I have and the irony doesn't escape me, believe me. That in a place where control is the rule of the day, every day, I should find escape through a situation that epitomizes the word. You, the noble, ethically driven governor; me, the stubborn cop-killer. I'm almost suffocated by the control that curls around my spirit like an endless chain, and yet, I find a freedom with you that I can't explain; a freedom in me that goes beyond the mundane vessel of my body and the thick walls of this oppressive place. I see you and my heart literally soars. I grin like an idiot when I see you walk into a room. My breath catches in my throat at the slightest touch.
And I don't give a toss.
Let the bastards try and take that away from me.
Return to Bad Girls Fiction
Return to Main Page