I would have to take one day after the other, or better said, one meal after the next.
After smoking openly, and seeing my cellmate being happy for me, though he was not smoking, he was now officially my best friend.
Especially because he wasn't constantly crying like some other people, though he looked more like it than Bleach-Boy. I have to call Danny that next time; I love how the name rings to the ear.
Breakfast I didn't get cause I yelled my lungs out. Now I was for some time at the hospital station and have missed lunch. It seemed that I had to wait for evening to show dominance.
My cellmate and I played a bit, as I conjured up a ball, and some other things, constantly training. I can now conjure up two things, but it seems if I do so, they disappear earlier than in two minutes. Maybe one minute for both of them. But that is a good sign. That meant with training, I am probably able to let the things I conjured up stay longer in the present.
Maybe I could even let things disappear faster as well, but at the moment I wasn't able to do that.
I also tried touching my cellmate's uniform and flipping the coin; it was really enough to get a vision. No skin-to-skin contact was needed like before, though I don't even know if that is true. I had never experimented so much with my ability, letting my own mind limit the possibilities I apparently had.
One thing is for sure: my wounds heal faster since coming back from the parallel world, and my eye color also stayed inhumanly red. Not even in pictures of people with albinism, I had seen such red eyes.
Let's hope nobody comes to experiment on me.
Anyway. Now that I am able to flip the coin through clothes, I don't need to search for skin contact when selecting a victim to show dominance.
Furthermore, I thought about my next operation a bit. If someone else in the dining room had a knife, he could end me as well. So I would have to try to act with a guard near me, but not as close that he saw me initiating the fight.
Anyway. I was hellbent to act today. I want to get myself some bad rumors about me, and then, if there was ever an incident in the showers, the rumors would hopefully turn worse and worse. Maybe I am just searching for something to do, but I liked the idea of becoming the king of this prison. Better than getting fucked.
A guard came,
"Howard, turn around; the warden wants to speak to you."
Funnily, they don't call us by prison numbers; I had really seen too much TV. It would be annoying to master all the numbers; I can relate.
"Yes, Sir." I turned around. Better be nice to the prison guards; perhaps someone would let me touch their keys. Only a touch; I don't want them as a gift, just a bit touching.
He cuffed me, and I think, albeit healing so fast, my fingers and hands are somewhat destroyed. But I could use them, so it didn't matter, and it didn't hurt. They just stood away in a bit of a grotesque manner. Still, it helped my image, and I could also hold a knife and make a fist. That's all that mattered.
We walked around the corridor, and I was again whistled at. I even heard someone gathering spit disgustingly, but the guard turned around, and it was silent again. There were also a bunch of curses at me, but I held it together. One seizure on the way was also better than more of them.
Finally, I stood in front of an office. The guard knocked and opened the door with his card. Is that an identity card? Don't know, at least some key card that got everyone access to where they are allowed to go. I again confirmed that I probably couldn't conjure it even if I was able to get my hands on it.
Stepping inside, I saw a gray-haired, thin man with glasses.
"Come in." He was a bit annoyed, reminding me of the old version of Professor. Atkins.
"Yes, Sir." I was brought to a metal chair that was screwed to the ground, where I was chained against. The guard left, and I was alone with—I will call him, Mr. Atkins.
He sighed and looked through the papers on his desk.
"You know, you can make your high school diploma here. You can learn a few jobs, like cook—you won't get your hands on knives the first two years, though—or gardener. Later, you can get a job here..."
The more he talked, the more my heart raced. I will be in here forever. That is my life. Forever.
This time, the fear, and the feeling of oppression from the cuffs were so strong that my body trembled heavily, and I discovered that I couldn't breathe. Again ripping my hands apart with all I got, I also did so with my feet, the shaking getting stronger. But the worst part was the air; I just couldn't breathe.
Mr. Atkins looked at me and stood up, as I slid from the chair, my hands being tied in place, holding me up in a sitting position. I felt cold sweat breaking out.
"Someone come! He is having a seizure!" Mr. Atkins bellowed, and the door opened.
Two guards came in and unlocked my handcuffs from the chair before pushing me to the floor. Miraculously, this didn't help me at all, getting worse and worse until I saw black dots, not able to breathe a bit.
"He suffocates!" Mr. Atkins yelled, and the guards let go of me. They put me on my back, and I stared at the ceiling that looked funnily back at me. The old electric light was strangely amusing to me.
I don't like this new Mr. Atkins at all.
I hate this room.
I hate this place.
But most of all, I hate Henry.