The blind prisonor

''Chris, you up?'' he asks again.

''Why wouldn't I?'' Chris replies.

The bars feel cold against his palms. He hears the guards speak somewhere at the end of the hall, but most other immates are quiet.

''Is it night?''

''Night? No. We've just had lunch. Are you okay?''

He hears movement in the cell beside him, hands copying his on the bars.

''It's lunchtime? But I just woke up. It's pitch black, Chris.''

''It's really not.''

''You used to be the funny butcher, Chris, where'd your jokes go?''

''Should I call a guard to check you out?''

''I'm not into that kind of shit Chris,'' he releases the bars and turns around to make sure he isn't tripping on acid or something. Yeah, it's still dark.

''I wouldn't let them do shit, you know I've been in love with you since years.'' 

He snorts and reaches out for the wall again, but by doing so, his toe strikes a hard edge and he dubbles over in pain. 

''You good?''

''Perfect,'' he squeeks. For an immate, his tolerance for pain sure is next to nothing. 

He feels around for the thing he hit, wrapping his arounds around a cold, round object.

''Did you hear that they gave us snowglobes this Christmas?''

''Snowglobes?'' Why on earth would they give an immate a snowglobe. He takes hold of the object and shakes it, hearing something rock inside. What the fuck?

''But it's March...''

''That't it, I'm getting a guard.''

''No wait-''

''Guard!'' Chris shouts. ''Guard!''

He lets go of the globe and staggers back on his feet. Footsteps come nearer.

''What's the problem here?''

He recognizes that guard's voice, it's Xylowick.

''Is he consussed or something?'' Chris asks.

''I;m not consussed, you prick, I just can't see anything and there's a snowglobe. Am I dreaming?''

His cell door opens and a cold object is tapped against his forehead, it's a pen.

''Maybe hit him good this time,'' someone else shouts.

''Shut up!'' shouts Xylowick. ''I'll deal with you later.''