They called it Angel's Prison for a reason.
"Why do they call it Angel's Prison?" asked Kora's new cellmate.
"For a reason," Kora said. "But I can't remember the reason."
Those were their first words. The new cellmate had just been ushered into the cell, the bars slammed closed and locked behind her.
The woman, looked to be in her 30s, okay looking, pulled down her pants and sat on the pot. Had to go number two. Kora had sat up in bed to acknowledge her new cellie. She laid back down, stared at the ceiling.
"Had to go bad," said the woman. "My name's Alex."
"Kora."
"I heard about you. Dynamite Diaz."
Kora smirked.
"Not as bad as my name."
"What's yours?" Kora asked.
Alex shared. It was pretty bad. Made Kora want to puke.
Or was that the current smell?
"How'd you acquire that name?" Kora asked.
Alex told the story. And the story told Kora that Alex was the complete opposite of Tiffany. She wasn't shy or calm. She could definitely handle herself. The story also told Kora not to listen to any more stories from Alex. Some of the details made her queasy.
Alex flushed the toilet.
Then, a few seconds later, jumped up onto Kora's bunk. Kora's expression was that of 'amused'—at this peculiar behavior. Alex curled up her feet at the end of the bed, sitting criss-cross. Kora pulled in her legs, sitting up once more.
"They told me your cellmate died today."
Kora nodded.
"I'm sorry. I've lost a cellie before. Shakes one up a little." Alex burped. "Excuse me."
Kora could see her much better here, under the light of the fan. Alex was pretty, to a rare degree, like she could grace the cover of a magazine—solid cheekbones, long dark hair, dark and tanned complexion.
"I barely knew her," Kora said.
"A lot of people die in this prison?"
Kora shrugged.
"I came from high security," Alex explained. "Had a cell to myself for a time. They transferred me out because I had good behavior. I guess this prison is better than the one I was in."
Kora shrugged.
"Friends?" Alex said.
"Depends," said Kora.
"I know," said Alex. "I'm good. Don't want any trouble."
"Good," said Kora. "Same."
Alex breathed a sigh of relief.
"Heard you have a target on you?"
Kora smirked—betraying the actual fear that accompanied the threat.
"How you gonna deal?"
"Fight," said Kora.
"Why are you in here?"
Alex was forward. That was typically not a question you asked a cellmate upon first meeting them. Most cellmates lied about it anyway, so Kora didn't see why it mattered. She'd never cared to share the reason for her indictment.
"Smuggling," said Kora.
"So you're bad at it."
"I'm great at it. I just got caught."
"If you got caught, that means you're bad at it."
"No," said Kora. "It just means the stars aligned. Against me."
"Astrology, huh?"
"Expression."
"Need help tomorrow?"
"You don't have to help."
"Good. I try to mind my own business."
"I can see that," said Kora.
"Well, I steer clear of drama."
"And that's why you're in prison. Steering clear of drama."
"Well, from this point forward," said Alex. "Your face doesn't look too bad."
Alex was referring to the bruises on Kora's left side. She couldn't see the bruises under Kora's clothes. Her arms and legs were sore and inflamed.
"You're pretty. Like a lead protagonist," said Alex, and then paused. Until finally she said, "What are you going to do tomorrow?" It sounded rhetorical.
Kora had already given her answer. She was going to fight. She didn't have any choice. The prison guards wouldn't help, nor would they care. They were here for a meager paycheck, not to put their lives on the line. Besides, this prison appreciated when prisoners killed off one another. One less person to care for.
"How did your roommate die?" asked Alex. "They didn't tell me."
"Punched in the face too hard."
"Scary."
"That's life," said Kora.
Alex shrugged. "Guess so."
A few beats.
Alex: "We better sleep. You need rest for tomorrow."
Alex hopped off the bed, switched off their light, and climbed into the lower bunk. Kora laid back down, smiling to herself.