Amber Easton

I had a dream.

For the first time in days, I had a dream. Not a nightmare.

Though, if I'd tell anyone what it was, they'd laugh.

Because, honestly, I dreamt about a color; the most beautiful hue of orange. It was the kind of shade you'd see in the prettiest sunset or the core of drops of honey.

It got me thinking why I actually lost my love for the color. It actually used to be my favorite one.

So here I am. Standing in front of the stack of rainbow-coordinated sunglasses once again, and playing with my odds.

Temptation fills my veins, and before I know it, the orange shades end up on the bridge of my nose with a few specks of dust flying around.

My vision becomes wobbly again with hundreds of dreadful images flashing before my eyes. They don't stop until I'm taken back about 4 years ago when I had just turned 18.

Here we go.

Orange.

So tempting, yet sly. So pretty, yet fatal.

Orange; the color of the jumpsuit I'm wearing right now.

And I'm laughing. Almost like a burst of panicky or hysterical laughter.

Never in my life did I think I'd ever be in this position. Really, whenever I watched 'Orange is the new black' or 'Prison Break', I didn't think the information would be useful at any point in my life. Guess I was wrong.

Did you know that there's a huge difference between jail and prison?

Watching all those shows a long time ago, I've gathered multiple tips and rules that could come in handy. So far, I've yet to put any of them to use, because, frankly, nothing extraordinary's really happened.

I mean, apart from the fact I'm in a room full of criminals. Half of them have just been taken in, so many are still high and hungover.

Or that it's freakishly and hauntingly cold here, so there are women literally using layers of toilet paper as a blanket.

Or that in this small room, there's just one toilet and a block of cement used as a chair. I'm leaning against the freezing wall because there's not much space on the slab.

Or that there's this one woman in a different room banging at least 12 times on the metal door and screaming 'when am I going to get my call?'

Her voice echoing in this confined space keeps reminding me that my call didn't go so well. I didn't know who to call, and my mom's number was the only one I could remember with my foggy mind. Turns out, somebody already reached out to her, and she couldn't care less. At least I made her promise she'd send me some money. But now I'm stuck with some public defender.

Or that I got offered a deal.

It was quite simple, really; I plead no contest, get the chance to post bail, pay for Brandon's hospital bills, and get out of here freely. Of course, I'd have to keep quiet about this whole situation because Brandon's this well-known actor, and his reputation wouldn't survive like he did.

I couldn't decide if I should take the deal or not, so they gave me time to think about it until court. Until then, I'm obligated to stay in jail. The soul-piercing thing about all of this is the fact I have no idea when the court is happening. I could be staying here for a day, or maybe a week or two. I mean, it could take months.

With all the crimes they could tie me to, starting from a simple DUI and underage drinking, ending it with a murder attempt, and fleeing of the crime scene, I could truly be faced to 10 years in prison if I don't take the offer.

Even though I'm not fully guilty, the hope keeps leaving me with each second. I mean, in movies you always see the innocent being proven innocent, but here, it seems to me that not many people have that kind of luck.

I might have to take the deal. Even if it's unfair.

With all this thinking, I've realized I've officially gone numb. Now that I think about it, I've been numb since the moment I exited the interrogation room. The whole process of taking my fingerprints, the squat-and-cough of stripping down naked, and putting on the itchy orange material went by in a flash.

Bam-bam-bam.

"When am I going to get my call?" The unknown woman keeps banging on the door. It's like the guards are ignoring her in spite.

Bam-bam-bam.

With all this slamming, I'll be surprised if the lady won't have bloody hands after this.

My legs keep trembling from the weight I've applied to them for hours. I keep trying to keep my weight off of them as much as possible, but my knees feel like they might snap at any time.

It doesn't take long until my legs finally give out, folding in a triangle, so my back defeatedly slides down the stinging wall in a torturing way.

On the bright side, I found a book here. I didn't know there was a bookcase in this room until two women started fighting about which one of them picked out some magazine first.

I found a really thin paperback in the middle of the poor choice of literature. I mean, I shouldn't complain, but the jail could've had a bit better taste, eh?

It's the hippie-style cover of the book that reeled me in; more than a dozen words in different fonts scattered around the title of the novel - 'In Watermelon Sugar' by Richard Brautigan.

Bam-bam-bam.

"When am I going to get my call?" I mutter the words along with the shouting lady that I'm sure I won't be able to erase from my mind forever.

Bam-bam-bam.

The loud noise keeps interrupting the sentence I'm currently reading with my knees folded to my chest. I haven't gotten far in the book because of the dim lighting, but so far I've gathered that it's a utopian book where everything is made of watermelon sugar.

It's honestly really bizarre, but it keeps transferring me into a place where everything is better, and so far, it's worked the trick.

It's the only thing that keeps me distracted from my loud thoughts anyway.

A loud thud making a 'crack' noise erupts from the metal door. It's a sound I'll never get used to; it's one of those high-pitched noises you hear when pulling a fork against a plate or one a poor microphone does that makes you cover your ears to stop the ringing.

"Easton!" A gruff voice roars through the air, making me instantly snap my head up to the guard with handcuffs ready to be put around my wrists.

Do I get to go home now?

"Get against the wall. You will be escorted to a cell for your level of charges." He wraps the cuffs around my hands, and I'm surprised my bloodstream hasn't stopped from the tightness of them. The sentence doesn't register in my mind until we're already at a different door with just a small 'window' through it.

"Wait. What does that mean?" I stop in my tracks but he keeps me pushing further until there's no room left for me to walk forward.

Dead silence.

"Wait!" I whisper-shout but he's quick to push me in the cell and remove the handcuffs before I can do something about it.

I brush my scruffy locks out of my eyes and finally notice the two other women in the obnoxiously small 6 by 8 feet room. There's nothing else in here apart from two bunk beds, one desk bolted to the wall, and a metal toilet with a sink on top of it. One woman, who couldn't be any older than 20, is laying on the top bunk and has a book perched between her fingers. The other lady seemed to be sleeping on the other top bunk but I suspect I might've woken her up.

For that, she gives me a death glare.

Well shit.

***

lmao there you go
this one was quite short oops, but I promise these flashback chapters will gradually get more intense.

you have no idea how much research I've done about jails pls my Google search history is quite concerning.
also pls correct me if I've got any facts wrong