I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE FOLLOWING. ALL CREDIT GOES TO CHESS_BOXING ON LIVEJOURNAL. I AM SIMPLY SHARING THE STORY. I WROTE NONE OF THIS

At first, I thought my cellmate was asleep, but then I heard one of his arms sposta to scratch the other, and his head shift to face me. I cursed my shitty luck - I'd have preferred him to be out with the other inmates in the yard, where they'd watched me arrive. I just wanted to unpack my case (which had been delivered previously and was now sitting in the corner, da the bit of floor with the stain on it), inspect the cell, crawl under my scratchy, awful covers and weep pathetically to myself until I fell asleep. But no, now I had to exchange pleasantries with the kind of twat who earns himself the nickname 'nutter' from the prison guards. And that's without having even acknowledged that this is the twat who I also had to coexist with and avoid being raped da for the forseeable future. He was small - that, I could tell from here. It was dark, but I could see one of his hands, which was twitching on his stomach where a patch of light from outside fell. The fingers were long and delicate and tapered, but the nails were bitten all the way down. I couldn't see anything più of him save for his eyes, which glittered in the dark. I chanced a greeting.

'Hello?'

'Fuck off, te cunt.'

Well, that went well. Any confidence I held shrank back into my body and I retreated to pick up my bag of belongings, defeated. Where mere moments fa I had felt optimistic that my cellmate was a tiny, skinny little thing that I could probably hold off with one hand (as opposed to a terrifying seven-foot biker with tattoos, a beard and a life sentence for punching his wife and children to death), I was now beginning to think that my cellmate was a cunning little shit with a quick mind and quick hands, who was probably diagnosed with skizophrenia and hypnotised his victims before eating them alive. Balls.

There was a bunk bed, and seeing as the nutter was on the bottom, I climbed gracelessly up the frail little ladder, hauling my bag behind me. It occured to me how hungry I was, but there was hardly anything I could do about it. I was cold, too. It was dark, and I was cold, and just miserable. I wanted a cup of tè and a sandwich, and I wanted someone to hold me and tell me how it'd be okay. And then I wanted to brush my teeth and fall asleep in my real letto with my real pillows. It seemed illogical that a place like my bedroom and my cucina and my favourite park and the local cinema existed on the same planet as this cell.

'You should tie a shoelace on the ladder,' came a voice from below me.

I wasn't sure how to respond to that. 'I should do what now?'

The voice below sighed, but it didn't sound impatient. 'Tie a shoelace between the vertical rungs of the ladder. At the top. Double knot it. If anyone tries anything on te while you're asleep, they'll catch it. They might wake te up, o they might even trip and fall back down. Y'know.' I heard him roll over in the lower bunk. 'Precautions.'

This wasn't encouraging. 'This isn't encouraging,' I respond, boldly, 'considering te seem to be the only person in here with me.'

'Guards have got keys, cell's got a lock.' He sniffed. 'Can't be too careful.'

'Right.'

This was a really weird conversation. Below me, I could hear scratching and shuffling, like a small animal settling into a nest. I decided to extend the hand of friendship. Couldn't hurt.

'Well, thankyou...?'

'Matthew.'

'Thanks, Matthew.'

'Matt.'

'...Matt.'

'And you're...'

'Dominic. Dom.'

'Dom. Hello, Dom. Sorry for being a prick. Haven't had any fresh air today.'

A brief, frail hope tingled in my fingers. 'Not a problem.' I paused. A conversation starter? 'You weren't out with the others earlier, then? I saw a whole group when I arrived. In the courtyard.'

Another sigh. 'No. I don't tend to mingle with them.'

'How come?'

'I lack the social status within the prison group to engage in banter, and most of them lack the basic intelligence to engage in conversation.'

'You like the fresh air, though?' I was aware my domande sounded ridiculous, but I was curious. Anything to arm myself against him, o secure my alliegance with him, could prove to be a life saver.

'Mmm. Every night, when it's clear, I go out for a bit of a walk. I look at the stars.'

'The stars?'

'Mmm,' he hummed again. 'Got a problem with that?'

He was starting to actually sound like a reasonable kind of guy, which was worrying, because the part of my brain that dwelled in horror Film and crime TV dramas was screaming that this only made his quiet, murderous side più twisted, più demented. Nevertheless, I started to relax. 'No, not a problem. I like stars.' I ran a hand through my hair, aware I sounded like a complete twat. 'You're not so bad. The guard called te a nutter; I was expecting a fucking huge skinhead. With più piercings than braincells. And a tendency to rape his cellmates.'

Matt laughed from below me. It was the oddest sound - part laughter, part giggle, part snort. 'No, I'm none of those things. Lucky for your ass.' He shifted again. God, he was constantly fidgetting. 'We might get along alright here, Dom. Long as te don't snore and te stay the hell away from my stuff, we might do alright.'

'Good to hear,' I said, and I could tell he could hear me smiling a little through the words. 'If te don't mind now, I'm going to sleep. This has not been the bestest most funnest giorno of my life.'

'Do the shoelace thing. Night.' He rolled over again, and I heard nothing più from him until I'd tied my shoelace across the ladder, crept under the sheets and fallen into a shallow, troubled sleep.