Part Fifteen
"Dad, wake up." Alana told him.
"The only way to end this nightmare is to just wake up." said Detective Weir.
Suddenly, the sound of an alarm echoing through the prison jolted Antonio from his dream. Still lying on the cold hard bed on cell block B, he barely raised his head to peep out of his cell. That day, another prisoner was being released, but he wasn't. He thought that after calling that place his home for over twenty years now that he would be used to it by now, but he wasn't. It stunk every day and the guards were cruel to him every day.
The only peace he found was in his dreams and his daughter. Now that she was twenty, she could come visit him on the weekends. He always looked forward to that. He liked hearing about her life and all of the adventures she was having. He lived through her. She tried to always be happy when she saw him, but sometimes couldn't help but cry. She had the hardest time telling Antonio about Jude. Jude died when she turned eighteen. He was supposed to take her to the prison to see Antonio but he was just to sick. So, she came alone and sat at the table and cried. Worst part about it was that Antonio couldn't even comfort her. Because of the fear of contraband, the warden wouldn't allow any contact besides a hand shake between prisoners and visitors.
"The only way to end this nightmare is to just wake up." said Detective Weir.
Suddenly, the sound of an alarm echoing through the prison jolted Antonio from his dream. Still lying on the cold hard bed on cell block B, he barely raised his head to peep out of his cell. That day, another prisoner was being released, but he wasn't. He thought that after calling that place his home for over twenty years now that he would be used to it by now, but he wasn't. It stunk every day and the guards were cruel to him every day.
The only peace he found was in his dreams and his daughter. Now that she was twenty, she could come visit him on the weekends. He always looked forward to that. He liked hearing about her life and all of the adventures she was having. He lived through her. She tried to always be happy when she saw him, but sometimes couldn't help but cry. She had the hardest time telling Antonio about Jude. Jude died when she turned eighteen. He was supposed to take her to the prison to see Antonio but he was just to sick. So, she came alone and sat at the table and cried. Worst part about it was that Antonio couldn't even comfort her. Because of the fear of contraband, the warden wouldn't allow any contact besides a hand shake between prisoners and visitors.
Antonio took a deep
breath. Making dreams out of what he had done was only going to send
him crazy and making things up for his own conscious was worse. Detective Weir was a good man who was just doing his job. He didn't deserve to die. To be honest, his
sister wasn't an angel. She fired at the cop first. There was no set
up or sabotage, at least not against Antonio or his gang. It was just a stupid, 19 year old Antonio that cared
more about his gang than he did about an innocent man's life, his
sister, his uncle's grief over his lifestyle, and his daughter.
“Wish I had a time machine.” Antonio often thought to himself. Obviously that wasn't going to happen. All he had were his dreams, his bed, and on weekends his daughter. That was it and he knew this. He could twist his dreams any way he wanted to, but when he awoke it would always be the same ending and he would be just as guilty as he ever was. It was over. There was no way he could fix things, not even in his dreams.
“Wish I had a time machine.” Antonio often thought to himself. Obviously that wasn't going to happen. All he had were his dreams, his bed, and on weekends his daughter. That was it and he knew this. He could twist his dreams any way he wanted to, but when he awoke it would always be the same ending and he would be just as guilty as he ever was. It was over. There was no way he could fix things, not even in his dreams.
Still, every time
he went to sleep, the words of a crazed inmate that used to be in the
cell next to his, replayed in his head, over and over and over again,
“When I lie in bed at night, I make believe that all is right...”
(To Be Continued)
Copyright
© 2012 by April Thompson
All
rights reserved. No part of this writing may be used or reproduced in
any manner whatsoever without written permission from the Author.
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