The guy awoke already in imprisonment. A scar ran the length of his forearm and extended through the edge of his middle finger. His fuck you finger. A swollen and blueish fuck you finger. The prison yard was muddy post a good rain. The guy was naked and sitting upon a cold stool. He rotated each arm. The long scar hid on the dark side of his arm, now revealing an IV tube sticking into his veins. On both arms. The IV ran to a wood pole sticking up from the mud. An armed officer was in the act of replacing the bag of liquid on the post.
"What is going?!" The guy barked.
"Hold still! Hold still!" the officer ordered back.
"Why am I out here?"
"Finally coming to eh? Congratulations. You fucked up and killed a man. Although he nabbed your liver, so congratulations, you'll die if you move an inch and lose the flow of from the baggies."
The guy looked back at the prison.
"No room left, but you are good and trapped here. Move an inch, you pull the plug on your IV and you'll die within minutes. Congratulations."
The officer finished what he was doing and the guy under the gray skies of late afternoon.
The night chill whipped the guy around and made the liquid entering his blood stream icy, near icing. His body temperature dropped drastically. The officer watched from the tower and laughed. He finished his warm tea and flicked on the auto beam and declared he was ready for bed. The auto beam would scan the prison yard in a constant rotation with a spotlight and sense any change in movement or space.
"The guy's fucked," the officer grumbled.
The guy shivered. And shivered. His skin whitened as though bleach popped and spread from his goosebumps. The guy's eyes glazed over. Thunder patted in the far distance and a slight warm breeze shifted through, for only a moment. It was a moment enough to give the guy the ounce of body heat needed for a lucid thought.
"This is bullshit," the guy gasped.
The guy proceeded to remove the IV tubes from his arm veins and trotted off down the prison yard and hopped the fence. Fifteen minutes later the auto beam landed on the spot where the IV bags still flapped but no longer ran to a body. The alarms sounded and all officers were called on alert.
The guy hid in the back of a garage down the street. The house seemed to be empty. He found a dirty blanket and laid out in the tube of a rolled up a rug. He could hear the sirens tread the surrounding hills and shouts from the woods, a search party. Four hours later the guy was still alive, without crude dialysis. He felt the rising scab on his arm. He recalled no such event when he killed a man. Having found warmth he now felt quite healthy.
"What kind of bullshit is this?" the guy mouthed silently in the rolled up rug.