“Suicide…me suicide…you high doc cut down the weed it’s messing your work now.” Ben chuckled slightly as he took another sip of Alfred’s afternoon latte, mhhhh! He sighed gladly as he inhaled the steaming wave like vapor circling around the white office coffee mug labeled Big D. Me, kill myself, his as high as f**k! Ben chuckled again only this time inwardly, but based on the circumstances and turn of events it’s either his high or I actually did try to kill myself. After he recollected himself and still dazed by the sudden new environment, the drawers clamped together in wheels, needle wrappers scattered all around the bin at the edge of the door, capsules in jars gathered and placed on nailed wooden benches on the office walls, so if he makes it all up, his in the prison ward. How did he get there? Well Alfred explained it to him, everything, the ferocity, the chaos, the ear disturbing shrieks, the constant cursing, all of it…but somehow he still was in disbelief and instead of tal

Diphenhydramine…aka the death pill…down the streets many local crooks went rampage robbing man and child, beggars weren’t safe and if any one brought a scuffle…pooof! They disappeared…so cops too feared crooks. But an old dictator…was it Hitler…law can be bent not broken, so the crooks were bending a malleable concrete enforced unbreakable brute force of strength and intelligence. After a month of chaotic gangster and crime regime cops were no longer the nice guys…sometimes if you can’t jail a crook how bout killing them…no that’s illegal how bout making them disappear, that’s not against the law is it? So one by one, crooks were cuffed and brought in stations crowded in cells fattening them like a cow in spring. Coffee, they loved it, two hours after a crook was arrested they would be escorted in king style, waist carried ruthlessly and violently barely on the ground with your tip toes and rushed being swung like a bowling ball smashing desks and walls till barged in the inspector off

Yanagi Sang, founder of the Yanagi crime society or how he likes to call it the white pigeons quite a funny name many think, but that’s because they don’t know just how this name came up. Well no different from Cobra, Yanagi too started from the ground the only difference was unlike Cobra who never knew wealth till he turned five, Yanagi was the lineage of a befallen prince. His father, Klaus Sang, a foreigner encrypted his foreign ways with those of the Korean was deemed unworthy after helping the Sang family build a billionaire dollar earning business monthly thanks to Klaus’s idea on the best way to go around selling drugs in the inhabited places of Middle North Korea. Pigeons…weighing less than an average sized LED remote, with an average population 80% of the country’s pigeon in this area alone meaning on every tree parch, treetop…one was bound to see a puffy, feathery, two side eyed creature hooting over and over. Now that it’s proven pigeons are twice the population of the inh

Sky blue gnome around a hand size tall, red hard covered historical 1000 paged book titled, “The Last of Man” some inches from the gnome. A little further, well wooden picture framed memory one wore a red shady flowered linen dress, on her lap her offspring in a ninety’s outgrown thin grey pajamas showcasing her God gifted gums a year old her teeth yet to sprout. Clamping her shoulders on both sides hands held gently like handling a bubble, growing upwards the manlike features emerge biceps, triceps, the thick neck muscles, all grow to the man like big sized jaw its beard shaved to a small smart gage, to the huge pearl eyes between the extended nose up to the bald head its veins visible from the earlobes to the fore head, zoom out this picture… meet Mrs. Mariam Gunner- the one in red-, first born child Gideon Gunner-the young toddler-, and lastly the army muscled husband and father Mr. Joe Gunner…the picture encased the whole Gunner family. These three objects populated the wide 12-i

Tarnished silver backboards crafted, bruised and a monument of history of the prison fights ever recorded, permanent blood stains splattered the near foot length structure, workers were fed-up of cleaning up of the miscreants in orange bickering and throwing fists like amateurs fighting over an ice-cream cone, if the numbskulls want to fight let the a**holes fight the warden was filled up anyway. As much as the backboards had seen the chefs had seen as much from smuggling drugs, poisoning certain inmates, favoring the privileged, any smuggle to sudden deaths the chefs were always in the mix. So apart from wearing their feminine black threaded hairnets splattering lump sum abominations of mixed ingredients of God knows what, they were also criminals in their own nature. The question still lies… is there any single living organism in this God forsaken penitentiary who doesn’t have their hands dirty well what about the wardens they must be t clean they are after all the law enforcement