Number 31 (On Hold)

He had never done it, but they didn't believe him. He had tried his best to explain to them what he remembered last, where he was, and why it couldn't and wouldn't have been him. The facts presented to them weren't in his favor though. He couldn't explain why when they got there he was unconscious with the knife in his hand which only had his marks on it or who else could've done it.

The neighbors couldn't vouch for him either. The one time he wished that noisy older couple had been around to come to his defense and prove that he had gone to college that day and hadn't return until after six before of tutoring, they decided that week to go on vacation and didn't return until the day after the incident. The only thing they could tell the police was that they had heard in the recent week what sounded like more arguments between him and his father. Raised voices shouting but nothing that sounded like a physical dispute.

That had been five years ago. Five years since he had been sentenced, five years since he had been stuck in this small jail cell in isolation waiting for a final ruling whether it would be a death or life sentence he had to look forward to.

Even though they had taken the shackles off him a few months after he had finally calmed down and wasn't screaming and lashing out at everyone for wrongly convicting him and demanding to see his family one more time before they got buried, it wasn't like he had much space to move around in the cell.

It was dark damp and smelled of mold, the 'bed' he had been given to sleep on might as well have been a concrete slab with how rough it was. The pillow he had was hardly any type of cushion most often causing him to have to use one of the two ratty white blankets they gave him as bedding to provide more cushion so that his head didn't hurt when he laid down. The other blanket hardly provided any warmth at all, though most days it never got terribly cold in the cell.

A rat squeaked and scurried past his feet as he shifted his left leg from the bunched-up position that it was in. The rodents that frequented his cell were the only kind of company he saw most days beyond the guard that would slip the food and water in for him like clockwork each morning and evening.

Most days he didn't eat much because it wasn't something that could really be considered food. Not being anyone important in jail meant that you didn't get the VIP treatment like those criminals who held high positions prior to being put in jail.

He never minded the rodents for the most part though, they were happy to clean up what he didn't eat which meant the guards stopped questioning why he didn't eat. They rarely stuck around though, mostly just stuffing as much food into their mouths and scurrying back to one of the cracks in wall that they had come out of. He wondered if they stole it to feed their families or just disappeared because they knew what would happen if the guards caught them if they stuck around to eat.

He himself had learned to stop attempting to talk with the guards because he knew what the end result would be- they would just have reason to hit him or mock him because of what happened. Of course, they wouldn't believe him either. They were trained to believe that every criminal that got thrown into jail was there for a crime that they actually committed but were just in denial about it.

No one had visited him or called either. It wasn't like he had any family left to talk with, but he had at least thought some of his closest friends in school or family friends would at least come see him and hear his side of the story and maybe try to fight to prove his innocence. Five years and he learned that such wasn't the case. Everyone just seemed to want to forget about him or avoid being associated with him because of what happened. It made him realize that maybe the case was that he didn't actually have any real friends. The kind that would stick with him through thick and thin. They never did exist in his life, nor would he ever have the chance to meet any now.

After a while however, all of that somehow stopped mattering to him and that had remained with him and continued to burn strongly was his desire for revenge. Revenge against those who had killed his family and framed him, revenge against those who dared to take away from him what was so precious. He doubted that he would ever get his chance to seek revenge by his own hand, but if he ever did- those people who put him through hell would suffer through one that was ten times worse than anything he had to endure.

"Number 31, we're trying him today? I thought the decision had already been made about what is sentence would be?" He shifted in his cell and opened his eyes when he heard the guards talking behind the door. Number 31, that had been his new name since he had been in prison. Apparently they determined because of how severe the crime he committed was, he didn't deserve to be called by his real name, just a number.

"They said they wanted to make sure that the system was actually working correctly because every single person they've tried who has done petty crimes has been deemed unfit to return to society." The second voice replied. He heard as the key clicked into the lock on his cell door. Per routine he stood up and turned around, placing his arms against the back wall with his back facing to them so as to prove he wasn't hiding anything or didn't pose a threat to them once they opened the door.

"Really? I thought they said based upon trial runs the system was flawless." The first voice sounded surprised.

"Don't they always say that with new technology they want to get out for further testing? Nothing but a few lies and it gets shoved off to whoever is willing to try it for the hope of success." The second voice scoffed as the cell door creaked open.

"You should be happy today Number 31, you get to go on your first walk in five years?" The guard's fake cheery tone annoyed him slightly but he had gotten used to it. He always put on the airs of being nice but wouldn't refrain from beating him if he so much as moved once inch the wrong way.

31 didn't bother turning his head to try and ask what guard was talking and instead held his position until he was told to turn and face him to be cuffed.

"See, it takes a while, but even the toughest of criminals learns how to submit when you train them the right way." He commented as pulled the handcuffs off the loop on his belt.

31 really wanted to spit in the man's face when he was told to turn around and put his hands together, but he refrained because he didn't want them to second guess letting him out of the cell. It might be the only chance of freedom he got. And if he had just one chance, maybe he could find a way to escape.

He didn't say anything as they led him down the dimly lit corridor that led to a heavy metal door. In most cases when other criminals had left that door, they never returned. 31 had always presumed it was because they were killed based upon the way they reacted prior to being led or in some cases drug out, but he wasn't entirely sure.