.-.emotionless.-. -- The Cell

.-.emotionless.-.
It's been a long hard road without you by my side
Why weren't you there all the nights that we cried?
You broke my mother's heart you,
You brok your children for life.
It's not okay, but we're all right.
by: Good Charlotte.

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After seeing the other cell blocks as he walked- cuffs and all- to his, he was happy he hadn't been worse. Sure he was in rehab now, but he felt lucky compared to the other people he'd caught glimpses of. Luckily, Chris had been able to stay away from committing fatalaties to others. Now, he'd rather just abuse himself. Of course that wasn't right. He never thought of the drugs or the drinking as his fault, why would someone ever blame themselves? All though, the shrink would no doubt end up making him admit it. He knew it deep down in the bottom of his withering frame. He'd said yes. But it just like when they were little and something got broken, even if he'd done it, he'd always try to blame it on Greg. And if Greg had done it, he'd point the finger at Christian. Of course, Greg being the oldest, he usually got his way. It wasn't until Jr. High- when Greg started drinking- that Chris became the favorite. Heaven forbid he could have lived up to it.

As the guard who had been walking with him shoved him into the cell, Chris stumbled a bit as he recovered from the forceful push. Grabbing the wall, he heard the key turn in the lock and a loud buzz as the guard exited the block. He knew he wasn't going to be locked in this cage for long, but he was stuck near it, and it was his 'room' now. He took a seat of the bed that sat against the wall in the back of the room. It creaked as his weight was applied. The matress, he could see, was stained to no end. And the pillow smelled like crap- literally. A draft blew through the quiet block, but the male began to sweat. He hadn't had weed in 3 days almost. He had a drink in over a week. And now it was getting to him. His body shook for a moment before he closed his eyes and leaned back, trying to relax. His red face faded to a pale pink, and the burning beads of persperation stopping raining down his face and cooled as he fell asleep against the cold wall.
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by law... Christian Davenport
by street... Chris
date of birth... December 8, 1979
all grown up... six feet two inches
stare into... baby blues
comb out the... dark brown
get to know me... Most of the time he's great to be around. The most unsuspecting alcoholic and pothead. Damn his brother's friends for getting him into it. He'd probably be in college right now if he hadn't been expelled.

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puppeteer... the ~e~

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