I squinted at the small window to my left, watching the tops of the trees swinging back and forth because of the strong wind outside. It was mid-afternoon but the sun was nowhere to be found, hiding behind thick, grey clouds that dominated the sky. 

I found myself wondering if it was going to rain and the thought filled me with hope. The rain always made me feel at ease and I could really use that ease right now. It just felt so refreshing, as if the rain were washing away all the dirt from the world, giving it a chance to start anew.

 I shook my head, scolding myself for getting distracted from the task at hand before returning my attention to the legal pad in front of me. It was an ugly shade of yellow, contrasting with the blue ink of the pen I was using. I didn't like it but it's what was given to me and the guard sent me a dirty look when I asked for white paper or a black pen. I didn't realize there was so much effort involved in the request, jeez.

I tapped the end of the pen onto the paper a few times, humming thoughtfully as I tried to find the best words to use. I had originally planned on simply stating what had happened in twenty words or less but, apparently, that isn't acceptable to them. Did they want a feckin' novel? Maybe it just wasn't spicy enough. Stories should be interesting, after all. Even real ones.

"Alright," I grinned, hunching forward as I brought the pen to the page, letting my mind run wild as the ink bled into it. I used all of the big troupes, fitting them together like a dollar store puzzle. Nearly thirty minutes passed before I released a relieved sigh, flexing my hand to relieve it of its cramp. I grabbed the pad and approached the cell door. "Oi, guard!"

I heard the sound of a chair scraping across the floor followed by heavy footsteps and the jingling of keys. The guard rounded the corner, a heavyset man in his mid-forties heading toward me with a perpetually annoyed expression on his face. The name badge pinned to his uniform said, 'McCord.'

"What is it now? I already told you, I'm not getting you a different pad of paper."

My lips parted but he cut me off before I could speak.

"I'm not getting you a different pen, either."

I clicked my tongue in annoyance. "You're a very rude man, ya know that?"

He stared at me blankly for half a second before beginning to turn.

"Ah, wait, wait!" I cried out, sticking my arm through the cell doors and waving the pad frantically. "I finished the thing!"

The man didn't seem convinced but he approached me hesitantly, taking the legal pad from my hand before taking a step back. I watched as his eyes scanned the writing, his left eye twitching every few seconds. He didn't even finish the first page before he shook the pad at me in annoyance. "What the hell is this shit?"

I rested my chin on the horizontal bar, my arms dangling on either side of me. "The thing I was supposed to write. For the insurance company."

"Are you stupid?" he deadpanned.

"I dunno. Maybe," I shrugged. "Why? What's wrong with it this time?"

"You're supposed to explain what actually happened, not what you wish would happen as if it were a damn movie," he scowled at me, smacking the pad against the bars above my head. "Do you want to stay in jail? Huh?"

"No -"

"Because I sure as hell don't want to deal with your ass any longer!" With narrowed eyes, he tore the used pages from the pad, crumpling them into balls before tossing them over his shoulder at the trash. Only one actually landed inside.

"Oi!" I cried out in protest. "That took a lot of brain power to cook up, man."

He shoved the pad into my face. "Do it again and do it right."

"Whatever," I muttered, taking the pad and returning to the metal desk. What now? Just the straight facts didn't work out and my bomb-ass story was also rejected. What was left, then?

"Hey, kid."

"Hah?" I tilted my head back, looking at the top bunk where my roommate was lounging. He was an older man, probably early sixties, covered in dirt with a mess of salt and pepper hair. When I first got here, he introduced himself as Kenny.

He didn't look away from the cheap romance novel he was reading. "Tell them exactly what happened. The more detail, the better. Don't call them dumbshits, neither. They don't like that."

"Exactly what happened, huh..." I hummed, tapping the end of the pen once before leaning forward and getting to work for the third time.

[Dear GoodCo Insurance,

On June 21st, 2021, I was walking around the neighborhood trying to catch Pokémon but my neighborhood kinda sucks and the only Pokémon that appear is that damned bunny and, quite frankly, I'm sick of him.

I planned on just returning home but then I got an email from Taco Bell Can you believe that they were giving away a FREE taco?? I couldn't either and stopped just as I was crossing the road.

I totally got hit by a car, by the way, but the driver was 80-year-old Bethany so she wasn't going too fast and I survived with just a few scrapes and bruises.

I'd like to file a formal complaint against her because she threatened to run me over again and even admitted that she saw me but didn't bother stopping. Please arrest her, she's a very violent old woman and she kinda scares me. But don't put her in my cell because I have a roommate already and I kinda like him. If you ignore the smell, he seems nice.

Anyway, I love tacos. Like L.O.V.E. love tacos, so I rushed home and borrowed my mom's car. And okay, I don't technically have a license but that's not my fault! That bitch at the DMV cared more about her nails and her prissy boyfriend than my flawless driving which, let me say again, was FLAWLESS. I made it to Taco Bell without a scratch to that roller skate car!

I enjoyed my free taco and my large lemonade and I swear, I was taken to a new dimension. Tacos are top tier, magical things, man.

After sitting in pure bliss for 20 minutes, I headed home feeling high-spirited, singing along to my favorite band, One OK Rock. Then this little prick pulled up beside me at the light, driving a white battered up car that sounded more like a chronic smoker than a vehicle. I'd bet five bucks that's he obsessed with the Fast and the Furious movies.

I ignored him because, why wouldn't I? I didn't know him and I'd probably never see him again, but then he tapped on the passenger window, indicating for me to roll it down. I was in a pretty good mood so I figured 'feck it.' When I did, though, this absolute shithead pulled the taco sticker off the passenger door, waving it at me with a smug grin. I paid 25 bucks and waited for over 2 months for it to arrive!

And then he crushed it. That bastard crushed my sticker and told me that tacos suck before speeding off, cackling like a feckin' hyena. I honestly saw red and my body moved of its own accord, flooring the gas pedal. Who knew such a small car could move so fast? For the record, I only rear-ended him because he stopped so suddenly. I mean, sure, he was at a red light but still.

With that first hit, I heard him squeal like a little girl because his window was still down. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy his fear! I just wanted an apology, you know? And a replacement sticker, of course, so I told him that when he got out of the car to yell at me. 

Do you know what he did after that? He laughed in my face and called me a psycho bitch. So, I punched him in the face. He squealed again, practically diving into his car before taking off. He ran the red light, by the way, so you might wanna give him a ticket for that. 

Naturally, I did what any sane, rational person would.

I chased after him. His car was slow as hell and he kept hitting the brakes randomly as if that would somehow shake me. How can I be responsible for the damages when he was driving so recklessly, to begin with?

If you think about it, this whole situation was purely self-defense. This random guy damaged MY property and insulted my very way of life, my soul fuel! I was defending my values! If the taco was a religion, the cops never would have even arrested me which seems really biased, if you ask me.

I don't know what this guy was thinking by going on the freeway. It's practically a straight line for miles, did he really think he could lose me there? Even if he was turning every 2 seconds, I was a hawk zoned in on my prey and I was NOT letting him get away from me until he paid for a new sticker. And you know what? A second one just because he ruined my good mood and caused me emotional distress.

My instincts told me that, nearly an hour into the chase, that I was finally wearing him down and he was about to give up. Then the damn cops showed up. It was like a burst of caffeine for him and he took off like a bat out of hell, turning off the freeway the first chance he got. 

I was able to keep up with him at first, but as he zigzagged more often and the number of cops increased, I ended up losing him. That cop got an earful for it, too! And, well, I'm sure you know the rest since it was broadcast live on CBT-3 news. Did you know that cops are really impatient and like to arrest first, ask questions later?

Basically what I'm saying is this – the damage inflicted due to this incident was not my mom's fault so she shouldn't have to pay. It also wasn't my fault so I definitely shouldn't have to pay. Not that it matters either way because we're both poor and have no money to pay you with anyway. The fault lies solely with that taco-hating, street-racer-wannabe, cry baby that single handedly ruined one of the best days of my life.

Sincerely,

Jen Winchester

P.S., Can you please convince that stubborn ass guard to give me phone privileges? There's a Pokémon stop AND a gym outside my cell and I'm pretty low on pokéballs. Thanks.

P.P.S., You should really consider offering your inmates better paper and pens. I mean, come on, a legal pad? Really? Who even uses these damn things these days? And pairing it with a blue pen? BLUE? Listen, blue is my favorite color and I'm quite partial to a blue pen but it doesn't clash well with the bright yellow paper, okay. At least offer black pens if you refuse to change the paper. Thanks (again.)]

I leaned back in my chair, feeling quite satisfied with myself. It felt as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders and it was a surprisingly nice feeling. I guess this is why people are told to journal their feelings.

There was a snort next to my ear and I jumped in surprise, falling from the metal chair to the hard ground with a groan. Rubbing my sore ass, I scowled at the old man. "You're like a feckin' mouse! Wear a bell or something, jeez."

He sent me a deadpan look but the corner of his lips twitched upward. "You have serious problems, kid, but at least you're honest about 'em."

"Thanks... I think."

"Good luck. You're gonna need it." He patted my shoulder, retreating back to his bunk.

"I don't need luck. That was a perfectly acceptable response to that situation!" 

"The cops didn't seem to think so."

"Because that prick got to them first. Once they read my story, they'll understand." I pulled myself to my feet, dusting off the seat of my pants.

He patted my shoulder before retreating back to the top bunk. "You better get comfortable, kid. You and me are gonna be spending a lot~ of time together."

"Nah, I got this." With a grin, I stood up and approached the bars again. "Oi, guard!"

A heavy sigh echoed throughout the room as he slowly dragged himself back over to the cell. "What now, Winchester?"

"I did the thing. Again." I waved the pad at him and he sighed again, taking it from my hands.

To his credit, he did read the whole thing this time, but he seemed to lose the will to live by the time he finished. "Winchester..."

"What?"

"You're never getting out of here!"

"Oh, come on!"

The old man just laughed loudly, throwing his head back against the pillow.

I scowled at him over my shoulder. "I'm glad my pain amuses you so much."

"I am, too." He grinned, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. "I tell ya, kid. I've had a lot of roommates over the years, but you're definitely the most interesting."

"I can't tell if that's a compliment or an insult."

He didn't reply.

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A groan passed my lips as I stared up at the dark ceiling, trying to count the number of grooves and ridges there were but I kept losing count after fifty. Night had fallen and the lights in the jail had been turned off so it was completely dark inside. 

A small sliver of moonlight shone through the barred window at the top of the wall but it wasn't enough to make much of a difference. I tried counting them again but lost track after twenty, making me groan again. I leaned back in the metal chair, feet resting on the corner of the desk to keep me steady.

"If you groan one more time, I'm going to shank you," muttered Kenny, his voice raspy from sleep.

"I don't believe you."

He slowly lifted his head, glaring at me through half-lidded eyes. "I shanked my cellmate eight years ago."

"You really shouldn't go around admitting that, mate," I told him blankly, meeting his stare without fear.

He glared at me for a moment before huffing and closing his eyes, using his arm as a pillow. It was probably more comfortable than that shitty excuse for a pillow they gave us. They're more like slabs of cardboard.

"How long has it been?" I groaned, leaning farther back in the chair. "It feels like I've been here for a year. Am I a hardened criminal now?"

He scoffed. "Considering why you're here, I'd say you're more of a psycho, kid."

I thought about that for a moment. "I can live with that. People are less likely to mess with a psycho."

"Go to sleep."

"I'm not tired, I'm just bored."

"Go to sleep and you won't be bored."

Damn, he had a good point there. Clicking my tongue, I set the front legs of the chair back on the ground before standing up only to pause when I heard the jingling of keys.

I knew the guard wasn't making his rounds because he had done so just twenty minutes earlier and he was far too lazy to check on us again so soon. Had someone else been arrested? The arrestee usually wasn't silent, though. They always have something to say, usually exclamations of their innocence.

Curious, I approached the bars.

The guard rounded the corner, looking equal parts annoyed and tired, but he wasn't alone. Following behind him was a tall man wearing a tailored suit. There was an expensive gold watch on his right wrist and he carried a black briefcase with his left hand.

I squinted at his face through the darkness, recognition dawning on me - it was Keith's rich uncle. "Jun?"

He quirked a brow at me, arms crossed over his chest. He didn't look pleased which is why I didn't call him in the first place. Not that I was given the option of a phone call anyway but, if I had been, I wouldn't have called him.

"Looks like you got lucky," grunted McCord as he stuck the key into the hole, the cell door creaking as it swung open.

Jun gave him a kind smile. "Can we have a moment alone?"

He looked between the two of us warily before slowly walking away, glancing back at the younger male as if waiting for him to change his mind.

Jun waited until he was out of earshot before addressing me with a motherly tone. "What were you thinking, Jen? Stealing your mom's car? Chasing down another person in said car? Running from the cops?" He shook his head, hand on his hip. "Do you have any idea what I went through to get Mr. Brown to drop the charges?"

I scoffed, folding my arms over my chest. "You shouldn't have bothered. The judge definitely would have sided with me when he heard my story."

He gave me an exasperated look. "You're going to be under house arrest for the next month."

"A month?" My nose wrinkled in displeasure.

"You're lucky it's not five months like the judge was originally planning on giving you. Now come on, let's go."

I started to follow him but paused, turning to look at my cellmate. He was watching me with a blank expression on his face until he noticed me looking at him and then he grinned, showing off several missing teeth.

"Go give the world hell for me, kid."

I grinned back, giving him a salute. "Try not to shank anyone, mate."

"No promises," he laughed as he rolled over to face the wall.

Jun quirked a brow at me as we walked down the hall. "Did you really make friends with your cellmate that quickly?"

"What can I say?" I shrugged a shoulder. "He was inspired by my harrowing tale."

Jun just sighed, bringing his hand to his forehead. I was pretty confident that he was regretting his decision to get me out of jail. Well, too late now. He just has to live with the consequences. 

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The taco image comes from Etsy: https://www.etsy.com/shop/DetroitSugarCookie