Prison Guard-DarkDWDMegavolt-

He put his cheese dusted fingers in his mouth loudly ridding them of the substance.  He crumbled up the bag and crammed it in his pocket.  He would have tossed it over his shoulder but the warden always got snippy when he did that.  After he wiped the spit off on his pants he returned to the conversation he’d been having before he finished his vending machine provided dinner.

“Okay, so how did you do it then?” he asked through the small barred slit at his eye level.

“Do it?” repeated the dazed voice from the dark cell.

“Geeze, you don’t even remember what we were talking about do you?” He shook his head.

“Something I didn’t want to talk about.” Sighed the placid voice.

“See, I knew you remembered.” He grinned and glanced inside the shadowed padded cell. “So you wanna tell me? I mean, I know they probably asked you a million times before, but I’m just curious is all.”

“Curiosity killed the...” The docile voice trailed off in thought.

“Cat?”  He offered helpfully.

“No, that’s not it.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure it was cat.”  He nodded.

“It’ll come to me.”

“Have it your way.” He scratched his head and glanced around. The maximum security wing of the prison was quiet.  It was late, so most of the inmates were sleeping. Lights out, was what was usually shouted when it was time for the prisoners to go to bed.  Here, they refrained from that phrase.  It could have unhealthy repercussions. He was a night guard here, not one of those mean ones. No, he tried to be understanding. Especially when dealing with guys like this.  They weren’t really to blame for what they’d done. Some times he wondered if this one even knew what he was being detained for.  

“You still out there?” came the inmate’s voice.

“Yep.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I told ya, just curious.” He shrugged.

“Curious to know how to stop it from happening here?” The voice seemed to darken, as did the already dim lighting.

“Sure, I guess. I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t take it into account.  But I don’t know how that sort of thing is possible.  I was just wondering is all...” He trailed off.

“You ever hear of couscous?”  

“Uh… pardon?”

“Couscous, it’s a kind of pasta. Real tiny a bit like rice, actually.”

“No, can’t say that I have.  Why are we talking about pasta?”

“I used to love it. I can’t remember what it tastes like, but I remember what it looked like.” The disconnected voice spoke lightly, as if to the air.

“You want me to try and bring you some?  My wife is always up for new culinary challenges.”

“Bring me what?”

“The… uh… pasta thing you were just talking about.”

There was silence from inside the cell.  It was aggravating to try and carry on a conversation with this inmate.  His brains were so scrambled it took the patience of a saint to even get two words out of him most of the time.  Whether those words were related in anyway was another topic all together. From what he recalled hearing, it was to be expected though.  When speaking of this particular prisoner the words “fried” and “erratic” were the most common in reference to his mental state.  He cleared his throat dismissively.

“Never mind.”  He looked up and down the passage. “Well I gotta get on with my rounds, okay?  I’ll be back to talk to ya later if you’re up for it.”

“Whatever.”

He wiped his mouth and felt the lingering crumbs of the cheese puffs come off in his hand as he walked away.  Really, he pitied the poor guy.  He was a convicted criminal sure, but he was so unstable, did he even remember doing it?  He weaved in and out of the quiet cells, a few snores greeting him.  It was almost impossible to think that the timid rat was capable of anything sinister. But, he did break out of at least four other prisons and countless sanitariums before they sent him here.  They never did find out how though, and it chewed at his brain.  He loved mysteries.  He had an entire collection of books based around deduction and clever detectives. His wife often teased him and said he missed his true calling as a private eye out of the noir era.  But really, he just read them. He wasn’t very perceptive in the real world.  However, his unquenchable thirst for an answer to the burning question drove itself into every aspect of his life lately. He would lay awake and think about it.  Putting together what little he knew, coming up short and frustrated. Also from what he gleaned from his conversations with the criminal at hand, only infused the doubt that it even happened at all. There was a book he read once, where the murderer framed an innocent guy with a mental illness. The poor sap sat in jail for years before the sleuth got hired that cleared him.  Was this like that?  Before he knew it, he was back at the cell door again, the inside quiet as usual.

“Hey, Sputterspark?” He hissed to the silent darkness.  “Were you framed? I mean, do you know the guy who really killed those folks? Are you covering for someone? Like, an old girlfriend or something?”

“You talk too much.” Said the dark lowly.

“So I’m right?  Tell me who it is! Maybe I can help you… I mean if you’re innocent then you shouldn’t be treated like this!”

“Prison Guard.”

“Yeah? Hey call me Ralph…”

“No. I just remembered.”

“Remembered? Remembered what? You got a name or a face for me or something!?” He said excitedly.

There was a spark from the darkness and the dim night lighting flared brighter than these particular bulbs were designed to. He winced at the display and heard a sizzling noise.  He hesitantly turned to see the steel door melting before his very eyes, bright blue bolts licking the failing metal. He took a step back as a thin figure stepped through the hole.  A pair of empty eyes swiveled onto him. One was blue, the other had been stripped of its pigment, the pupil being the only thing left. The tips of the rat’s fingers were a scorched looking black, while the rest of his fur was a pale brown.  He looked unimposing, standing there in his orange prison jumpsuit but he was terrifying despite the peaceful glaze to his features.

“H… how did you do that?” Ralph swallowed hard as he stared down the stationary rodent.

“Still curious?”

“Yeah… I’m pretty damn curious now.” He confessed numbly.

“That’s too bad.” The rat blinked dolefully.

“W… why?”

“Because…” There was a flash at the rat’s fingers and dancing voltage flickered around the blackened fur.  With an evil lopsided grin the rat raised his finger to point at Ralph. “..Curiosity killed the prison guard.”



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