Deja Vu

F3 – Cycle 123 – Sprung

Prompt: Write a story about a convict and his new found freedom, whether from an escape or parole.
Genre: Crime, though you are welcome to mash genres. Who knows when or where the story’s set.
Word Limit: 1,700

WARNING: This post contains mature content. Please do not read if you have delicate sensibilities. 

I had several ideas for this prompt but the best one came to me after listening to “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” soundtrack.

DEJA VU (963 Words)images

Is it Deja Vu if you’ve actually been somewhere before?

That’s what Melena was wondering on her second bus ride to town from prison. She’d done two stretches for the same crime. Not that she’d killed the same person twice, just that she’d been convicted of manslaughter twice.

And now she was on her way home. Or to the place she called home prior to the last seven years. Oh, if they’d just let her stay there. Prison was so sweet. That was her true home. That was the place she belonged.

Prison was where her family was. Where her husband Tyrone was. Sure, things had been rough the first time in. Back when she’d only had the prison blues to wear and didn’t have any friends on her cell block. All those tough men full of testosterone just itching to put a beating on her to prove how manly they were.

And put a beating on her they did. It didn’t matter where she was. In the shower. In her bunk at night. On the shitter. She got beat so many times those first few months she lost count.

Then they found out what a woman she was. They found out how she loved to fuck and suck all the boys on the cell block. They found out that they didn’t have to release their sexual frustrations through violence. She’d be happy just to blow them or give them her tight little asshole.

That’s how she made it through the first stretch. Doing pretty much what she did on the outside on the inside. Selling her body for protection. For money. For what little esteem it brought her.

Then she was paroled and she went back to the boulevard where she peddled her wares. She didn’t do it because she had no other talents. She didn’t do it because she was stupid. She didn’t do it because she didn’t want to work in fast food or a factory. She did it because she liked it. She liked the attention. She liked the thrill of getting into a strangers car. Of going to a motel somewhere and not having anyone know where she was. The thrill of having a nameless john blow his load in her. Infecting her. Impregnating her. She loved the danger.

She even loved it when she had to kill.

This was her second bus ride home after her second conviction, but there were a few more bodies buried in the desert around this town. She loved the danger but she knew how to handle herself. She knew how to snap a mans neck when he got too rough (which was violence above and beyond what even her patrons could be expected to engage in).

And she knew where to hide them.

She knew that it would just be a matter of time before she’d go back. She’d be back on the boulevard and some boy would come along and want to get rough with her. And she’d kill him.

The public defender would tell her to cut her hair and not wear any make up and dress like a man. He would say that they’d go lighter on a regular guy than they would on a cross dressing streetwalker. She’d probably go along with it. But it wouldn’t be a jury of her peers. There’d be a couple of homophobic jocks and a few of the wives of men she’d fucked and they’d send her back up the river.

She’d be convicted and that would be her third strike. She would get to spend the rest of her life with Tyrone. Pulling a trigger would be like a proposal.

She loved Tyrone and he loved her. What they had was better than any type of prison love. He wasn’t like the other brothers that treated her like a toy they could just throw aside when they were done and pretend she didn’t exist when they didn’t want her. He wasn’t like the Aryan Brotherhood punks who just wanted to pull her hair during blow jobs and then sob about how they’d never do anything like this if they weren’t locked up for one year, two years, twenty years.

Every man had a breaking point. Some men could do long stretches without sex. Some would just read romance novels and jack off in the shower even if they were in there the rest of their lives. Some would rape a smaller guy the first day in.

Melena just loved to fuck. It was what got her in. And what got her out.

He hadn’t wanted the guard to put in a good word for her with the parole board. She just thought he was cute. She’d thought of attacking a guard. She had a shiv that Tyrone had given her for protection. Not that she’d need it. Everybody knew she was Tyrone’s bitch so everyone stayed away unless he offered her.

But now she was leaving that safe haven of a world and going out. She didn’t want to. She would have stabbed a guard but they were all so nice to her. None of them ever gave her any shit. None of them would ever beat her. The one would even pull his cock out of her mouth and blow his cum all over her chest just like she liked. It was hard to stab someone who treated you good.

But soon enough she would run into another john who didn’t want to pay or who wanted to shove a lamp inside of her an turn it on. Then she would kill him. And hopefully she would get caught.

She would do anything to escape the prison of a town she lived in so she could go back home.

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About Zack

Associate Degree. Music Lover. Blogger.
This entry was posted in Entertainment, Fiction, Flash Fiction Friday, Literary and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Deja Vu

  1. Pingback: F3 – Cycle 123 – Sprung stories | Flash Fiction Friday

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