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When Life Means Life
01/08/2005 . Source: Geoff Willmetts 
Flash fiction from the pen of by GF Willmetts. It's tough being a jail bird - no matter what dimension you're doing your time in. Do you know what it means to be free? Means never looking at life through these cell barriers any more. Being able to see the stars instead of this restricted ceiling. Able to smell fresh air without any of the artificial scent shit that gets circulated through this prison. Bollocks! It means doing what I want to do.
I'm a career criminal or rather I was until the cops caught up with me. Wasn't even sure what a career criminal was until they went through my crime sheet. Had an interview about careers at school once. I think I put down 'bank clerk' even if I was plannin' to rob it. Who's gonna be dumb enough to put down 'career criminal'? Armed robbery. Arson. Drug dealing.
Prostitution. Intimidation. Corruption. Murder. Me and my gang had a finger in every pie and was making a nice living out of it. That is until I was caught. My first stretch was going to be my last as well. The sentence was 'life means life'. Serve all the life sentences. Lock him up. Throw away the key. One difference: Pro-Life. Prolonged-Life. I was goin' to be alive for each eighty year life sentence. Bastards!
Some boffs in a lab had come up with the drug Pro-Life. Bound to get a Nobel Prize they thought. Prolonged life for all those who could pay for it. Very few were. Apart from expense, the added problem was it stopped you ageing at the age you were at. If you were old, you'd be old forever with all its infirms. The newer generations' hormones were too unstable to take it. Most had drug problems - I was only one of the dealers contributing so don't blame me. It also made you sterile and loose sex drive. Surprise! Most didn't want it! I couldn't even find a black market for it. Dumb drug!
Then it occurred to them to give it to prisoners like me. Lifers. Keep us alive to live out our sentences. Life meaning life. Let us suffer life ever after. Not being able to screw not a problem. Couldn't escape by dying of old age. We serve out our sentence. Life really meant life. Confinement permanent. My cell, the living hell of pastel shades and lift music. Somewhere at the end of this dull and boring rainbow, I would be set free into a society that thinks it capable of keeping ahead of the career criminal mastermind. Hah! Bullshit!
I'd do my time. Plenty of time to plan. Form a new gang. Teach my experience of several centuries back that no one would have a clue of today. Fresh crime wave. Especially today. I've completed my sentence and I still wanted to make my mark. You didn't beat me, you bastards!
The door opened. The mech-wardens let me out. I stopped by the gate to breathe in the fresh air. The sun glared over-head. A lot brighter than I remembered, too. Still haven't settled the ozone layer. So much for modern science.
'Mr. Fantastisio?'
'Yeah, buddy. You my probation officer?'
'Detective and Judge. We've been looking over your crime sheet. There were several murders that were only attributed to you.'
'So? Attribute don't make me guilty?'
'We found the bodies in the foundations of the Laso Building. These aren't time served. You're back in the slammer for another ten live sentences.'
I looked back at the door as it opened, beckoning me back in. Bastards! At this rate, life really meant life...but I'd get out. Just you wait. Just you wait!
End
GF Willmetts July 2005 (c) 2005 All rights reserved.
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