Twenty years away

It was a rainy day. What bad luck.

Luther liked rain, usually. It would distract him from the boring repetitiveness of his cell. He would listen to the drops hitting the glass of the miniscule window or inhale the scent and feel free.

However, that was the wrong day for such a storm.

«Hey, Luther, I've tried calling again, but no one answers,» the guard told him.

«No?» he repeated. «Somehow, I'm not that surprised.»

«I'm sorry... How unlucky. I might try again in a couple of hours, okay?»

«No need, Richard,» he said.

During the years he had spent there, he had become sort of friends with most of the guards. After all, he wasn't a bad guy. He wasn't violent; he wouldn't cause a ruckus for stupid reasons; and he wasn't there for such a bad crime, all in all.