Bitter Freedom.

A loud metallic bang echoed through my cell. "Jackson, up!" barked the tower of a prison guard that was Cole. I squinted my eyes in an effort to really make his shape out- the bulky colossal shape was still a blur. I rolled back away from him. He shoved me hard "shower, kid!" he growled- disobedience was the last thing that he was used to. I forced myself to sit up and there was suddenly a towel in my hand. I was almost a year into my sentence- a pretty obedient guy- no one had gave me any reason to misbehave. I stood and waited as Cole handcuffed me and shouted; "open the cell". I dragged my feet behind me as Cole led me and three other teens to the shower room.  The big room was too familiar- gray- crowded and bleak. I felt dirtier after I showered than before.  Before entering the shower room we had to go into a little room and strip- get checked for weapons or whatever- I hated it beyond words. I trudged into the shower room, finding that there were less people in there than usual- maybe my reluctance to wake made me later than usual. Good. Less people seeing me naked could only be a good thing. I stood under the shower head with my head down and tried get it over with, I always tried to keep my showers short. "Hey kid!" an angry voice spat. I looked up with one eyebrow raised "I shower there." The voice came from a boy, about 17 and looking really agitated. I shrugged. There were a lot of available showers so why should I move? Ten minute later I was in the infirmary- bleeding bad. That day I stopped being mister nice guy.  

"Ryan Jackson, where did you hide the fucking knife?" Cole, no longer what I would call a tower- just inches above me spat angrily. I smiled at him, cocky and sure of myself. "Knife?" I grinned. His eyes narrowed as his arm reached under my pillow and retrieved the 12" butchers knife. He shook his head "why and where did you get it?" he sighed. I smiled "it was planted there". He huffed out of the room angrily. The truth was; I kept the knife for self deffence... I had been attacked in the showers and the canteen almost every day for the last four months. Of course nothing had been done about that. Still, I enjoyed winding up Cole, sure he was the most decent guy in the whole place- but he was still a guard-and it still passed the time. I had been in the detention center for two and  half years- the time sure wasn't going to pass its self. I could feel myself getting angrier every day- and I couldn't stop it- the little jokes and grins didn't reflect the real me. 

I was attacked in the shower room three days before my release. My nose was broken as well as two of my fingers and I was stabbed in the leg. I was a mess. When I left I was still angry from the attack and I think that's what sealed my fate. The nurse ignored me and fussed over the idiots that had caused the damage- all they had was a bruise here and there and a few missing teeth, but they seemed to be  priority. "Hey, I have broken bones here- and I could have internal bleeding" I snapped at the nurse as she walked past my bed without a look. "Don't tell me how to do my fucking job" she growled and carried on walking. The pain was agonizing. I lay there for fourty eight hours in pain-real pain- the nurse denied me any drugs, it was prison standard that only severe injuries would gain you drugs- so what was mine, a bruise? I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes and continuously wished the pain away- and on the day of my release I felt like the pain was dragging me away from what should be happiness. That day it rained like never before, talk about a sign.

Walking out of that hell hole should have been a brilliant day for me- instead it was a dark one. It felt like I was looking through the world with dark glasses- they made the world seem worse than it was. More than anything I wanted to get out of that town. Get away in any way I could- that’s when I got the idea.
If you already have a criminal record for harassment- then why not borrow a bike? I was going to leave it near the airport to be retrieved by the owner so HELL- I wasn't hurting anyone.
So I planned as I got on the train from Liverpool and back to Manchester- from there I was going to take a motorbike and drive to the airport and board the first airplane that had an empty seat. I had enough money- almost £4000 that had been sent to me from my sister over the years I'd been inside. I hadn't spent any of it on anything inside so I could go virtually anywhere.
How was I going to get the bike? I know that you're probably reading this thinking 'who's going to give up their bike for some criminal?' But you see- that's what knives are for... and you can get one of those from anywhere. So that’s what I did.

Walking through Manchester with a barely concealed knife wasn't as inconspicuous as I'd hoped.  Everyone noticed of course. There was people jumping out of my path and screaming and threatening to phone the police.
I told everyone who passed me by that I wasn't going to hurt them and got angry when they recoiled in fear. 
The 'dark glasses' that I was seeing through were almost opaque when that guy, that old and innocent guy, stepped in my way.
"Move out of the way man!" I snapped- I needed to get past- someone had phoned the cops- I could hear the sirens and there was a guy about to drive off on his bike just behind him.
"You can't walk around with a weapon like that! You're scaring everyone!" The old man replied- reaching for my weapon.
"I need you to move! MOVE!" I shouted- I could feel myself losing control.
Then the man grabbed me- then, before I could stop myself, I was pushing the knife into his chest and he was stumbling towards the ground.
Everyone was screaming- people were diving at me and I didn't know what to do. I dropped the knife and I ran to the bike behind him.
"GET OFF!" I screamed at the guy on the bike- I don't know what he looked like- who he was. Does it even matter?
I jumped onto the bike and sped off down the road.
It was less than five minutes before the cop cars were behind me. My options were pretty few- let them catch me and go to prison or make a break for it and escape.
I chose the latter.
I sped the bike up and I was seriously burning rubber. 
Then I felt the bike when I was halfway down the motorway. 
The bike crashed and I died.

Ryan Jackon; that guy who was in a detention centre?
The guy who killed an innocent old man?
That guy who died on his first day of freedom.

Yes- that guy.

The only second chance that I could possibly get now is in hell.