You wake up in jail and have no memory of how you got there. As you pace around the cell, you find five items in your pocket from the night before. As you look at each piece, the night slowly comes back to you. Write about your night, and why you have these five items and how you ended up in jail. (WritersDigest.com)
Items in my pocket:
- A gold tooth
- Empty lighter
- ATM receipt
- Balled up aluminum burger wrapper
I feel the headache before I’m fully conscious. I slowly try to open my eyes, wince, and then try to focus the blur out. My senses are dull as I tiredly lift my heavy head up to acknowledge my surroundings. As I unstick my dry stiff tongue from the roof of my mouth, I bend my head to wipe the sleep from my eyes and I see it. Spaced shadows of slightly shifted vertical lines stretching from the floor, to over my left shoulder and then to behind me. I look up ahead of where I sit and it strikes me; I’m in jail.
Well, in a holding cell anyway. Either way, I’m scared. How, and more importantly why am I here? I rack my brain but can’t remember a thing. So most importantly, why can’t I remember last night? I stand up and start to anxiously pace back and forth, waiting for someone to come along and refresh my memory, but after an hour of this unnecessary exercise, I sit in defeat and place my hands in my jacket pockets. There, I feel a stabbing prick and quickly jolt my hands back out. I guess the jailer didn’t bother to search my pockets before leaving me in the doldrums because right then and there I begin to pull out everything in them. A receipt, zipper-pull, an empty little bic lighter, a balled up aluminum burger wrapper, and a single gold tooth come spilling out of my hands, like pieces of the puzzle that was yesterday.
It all started with the cows, as most tragedies do. Living near the highway for convenience wasn’t the best plan in the world, and as yesterday had proved it could be a straight out disaster. I smelled the traffic jam before it was broadcasted on the news; a trailer filled with live cattle had broken down on the highway, and apparently cows could care less where they alleviate themselves. I swear I could even see the stench waves traveling throughout the neighborhood like a salesman going door to door, making it’s presence known. I had originally planned for a quite morning of coffee and a good book, but my nose was saying not today. With ease I located a good stash of scented candles (thanks to the local grocer’s clearances) and was sighing with relief when I found my little bic lighter in the back of a junk drawer.
click-siiiiiiisss… Click Click…. siiiiiiiiisssss…..
Empty. Of course. You’d think there was enough gas in the air to set something ablaze, but there you have it.
I quickly grabbed my keys, ran to the car lot and nearly passed out from holding my breath as I rushed into the seat and started the ignition. Only then did I test the air… and almost gagged. There’s no escaping it! I drove the six miles to a little service station to replace the lighter that had failed me in my upmost time of need. After parking, I strode right into the shack and began the seemingly simple task of locating the plastic rascals. After two whole minutes of my meticulous aisle searching, realization set in on a couple of things. First off, no doubt putting my faulty reasoning to work, who mainly uses lighters? Smokers. Where are the cigarettes located? Counter. Therefore the the lighters would obviously be at the counter. Second off, how long has the cashier been handing money to the guy pointing a gun at him?
I duck as fast as I can to avoid getting involved with the robbery, but my never-failing clumsiness knocked down an entire row of cheez-wiz, engulfing the entire shack with loud clangs of aluminum cans rattling across the floor. The thief spots me and gives the order to get up with my hands raised. Of course, I comply and rush to my feet as he fires off a shaky list of what he wants.
“I want you (points at me) to come here where I can see you. Keep your mouth shut and no sudden movements! You there (motions gun at cashier) keep stacking the cash. No, no change. What the–”
Sirens are heard in the distance and the robber gets panicky. Obviously believing the cashier tipped the police off, he pistol whips him, leaving the guy in a unconscious heap. He then grabs the grocery bag of cash, swipes a couple candy bars and wrapped food from the quick serve tray and does something I never expected– he grabs me.
“I have enough witnesses, you’re coming with me. Where’s your car.”
I point out the only other car in the small lot, and he drags me by arm.
To Be Continued…