The paint peeling from the walls is blue. Not lagoon blue, or teal, or ship shape navy. It’s pale, watery blue like my Baka’s eyes. Doc says blue is calming, but the separate spaces and locked doors give way to a colourless lie.
Twenty years. Two decades in this place. Ten with good behaviour. I’ll be an old man by the time I’m out. I look at the wall through the cracks between my fingers and let my mind detach from my body and dissipate into the wild blue yonder.
Twenty years. Two decades in this place. Ten with good behaviour. I’ll be an old man by the time I’m out. I look at the wall through the cracks between my fingers and let my mind detach from my body and dissipate into the wild blue yonder.
