Raymond Can’t Colour In The Lines

If you haven’t noticed already, I don’t write things in chronological order.  I THINK OF SHIT, I WRITE IT DOWN, IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT, FUCK OFF.

I’ll be backtracking to prison for this story, it was around my fourth month inside, so I’d started to settle in. When I say settle in, I mean accept it. You don’t fucking settle in, it’s not homely. I’d just had what they call ‘pasta surprise’ for lunch, the surprise is… it’s fucking shit. Not surprising at all really, is it? Would be ten times more surprising if it was delicious.

I was laying on my bed, concentrating on holding down today’s meal, when a very odd man approached my door. A man I later found out to go by the name, Raymond. His abundant amount of grease soaked hair stretched down to his white T-shirt in a way that, from the amount on it, I can only assume, he’d purposefully washed it in gravy.  He had also quite clearly altered his tracksuit trousers in to shorts… without the help of any scissors. His eyes were at an angle that looked like they were more interested in what his ears were up to than what’s going on in front. He proceeded to present to me some colouring he’d done. He’d paid absolutely no attention to the outline of the fish that was on the page, in fact, after looking at it for some time, I think he’d just dipped his arse in paint and sat on it.

“YOU WANNA BUY?” he proudly hollered at me, smiling eye to eye. It was clear a mile off this bloke was particularly… differnt. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings; I could just picture him going back to his cell devastated, crying while wiping the paint off his arse thinking “all my hard work, for what?” So I pretended to be interested and just said the first thing I could think of that wouldn’t be offensive.

“Cor it’s bloody good mate but I just haven’t got the room!”

Raymond blankly stared round my empty cell, disregarding the multiple places I could put his bum print, then walked out backwards, staring… sort of at me.

I spent the rest of the day dazed by the events that had unfolded earlier on.  I went downstairs for sociable time with a bunch of people I didn’t like.

Here he comes.

Raymond’s walking towards me, with not one, but two new masterpieces with him. He’s obviously not as stupid as he looks and after evaluating how empty my cell is, he’s decided I could easily fit two of his modern art pieces in there.

The last thing I want is these things displayed in my fucking cell for all to see. I was stabbed a month ago, I don’t need colourings, shit colourings at that, stuck on my fucking wall. People will think I’m mentally disabled and exploit me, I just fucking know it.

He opened his mouth in a way I could see “YOU WANNA BUY?” was about to come out, so I quickly tried to distract him. “You fancy a game of pool, mate?” Raymond stopped and began laughing at me. “GOOD LUCK! I’M THE BEST”

Fucksake.

We began to play and it very quickly became apparent, Raymond is in fact not the best at pool. I’m trying my bardest to let him win but people are beginning to congregate and watch, whispering. THEY THINK WE’RE FUCKING MATES, AS EQUALLY SPECIAL AS ONE ANOTHER. I’m looking around at people as they point and laugh at us two “buddies”. Raymond’s got a ball in his mouth. I’m not having this.

I decided I’m not being nice anymore and pot all the necessary balls for me to win. As I pot the final ball, Raymond’s head lifted up and looked at me like I’d just asked him if it would be okay for me to to shit on his feet.  He whispered…

“Cheater.”

“Sorry Raymond?”

This man fucking errupted.

“CHEATER CHEATER CHEATER CHEATER!!”

Raymond is now coming at me, with his cue, which, although he can’t use correctly, turns out he’s not fucking bad at swinging it around his head in anger. Everyone is most certainly laughing at me now, I’ve got a full on audience. I can’t defend myself, can I? That’s going to go down well isn’t it. “Oh, Mr Holland, despite your excuse of  “he started it”, we will be giving you extra charges for punching a disabled man.” Fantastic.

“I’m sorry you’re right, I’m a cheater.”

Raymond put his cue down and thanked me for admitting that I’d actually swindled him out of winning but informed me sadly, we won’t be friends anymore.

No need for those drawings then?

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