People's Choice Award: Stick in a Box

By Richard Pearce

EXCERPT:

I was well seasoned at being a fake, but I knew this would be my most demanding performance yet.

     Another heavy door slams, but I'm ready for it, my shoulders are relaxed - not tense; I'm pretty sure the little upwards jolt wasn't even noticeable.

     'Remove all your clothing,' he says flatly.

     I was prepared for that, but it's still a shock. His face shows me nothing; for him this is just a job after all.

     I decide to treat it like a doctor's office.... but even for me it's a hard illusion to fake. So I take my time, delaying the inevitable like a kid with homework.

     "You don't wanna piss me off on your first day," he says. His expression could make a backstreet bouncer look friendly, and I suddenly realise just how little control I'm going to have in here. I stay bent over as my feet flick my underwear away, then I slowly rise - not sure whether to cover myself or stand proud. I opt for a sort of middle ground and keep one hand close to my crotch, as I squirm on the spot like... like a naked prisoner in front of a damn army reject!

     'Turn around and spread your buttocks.'

     It's hard to explain, in a meaningful way, the loss of dignity when you can't even be trusted not to hide something up your arse.

     I cringe. My performance is in tatters already.

                                                                ***

     You could easily hear them above the background din, which was quite some feat because this place was like the Britomart at rush hour - an echo of noise. They were dragging him out of the cell, four of them, and they needed four. His hands were cuffed behind his back, but he was still using his leg sized arms, that were covered in a patchwork of tattoos, to good effect.

     It took me about two seconds to sum him up; the rest of my time was spent praying he wasn't my new cellmate.

     But my luck had hit the road a long time ago.

     The guard leading me slapped a backhand to my chest, but it was wasted effort. I was already flat against the chipped concrete wall, pale and staring. Unfortunately I had forgotten the first rule; look tough, act tough - I caught a shoulder and a face full of spit for that mistake.

     "Enjoy," said the monotone voice behind me as another heavy door slammed and clicked.