Post by Audio Pineapple on Sept 22, 2007 23:54:51 GMT 1
Hey guys; this is only gonna be a few chapters long at the most so here's the first... and I apologise to fans of the person dead at the end of it!
His fingers shook as they glided across the dull edge of the blade, his mind trying to take in the sensation of it, focusing on anything apart from what it was destined to do.
Because that was what he believed now; there was no such thing as making your own luck or as controlling your own destiny. Everything was mapped out and as a Burrows his life was destined to be nothing but pain and torment and everything had become worse since he was arrested.
And the blade was the only way he knew he could end the pain. Michael wasn’t going to be able to break him out of the prison, nobody was going to save him and he coughed nervously, feeling the tears starting to form behind his eyes. He scrunched them shut, telling himself that real men didn’t cry, especially about something that was inevitable.
One more deep breath and he positioned the shank in the right place and he opened his eyes to check, closing them again, not wanting to see the blood as he took it to his wrists.
-*-*-*-*-
“I’m so sorry Lincoln.” The words washed over Lincoln as he collapsed into a pile on the floor, the guard behind him immediately reaching for his weapon, thinking that he had lunged himself at Pope. The older man shook his head and the guard paused.
“You’ve made a mistake.”
“I haven’t,” Pope sighed, at a loss of what to say and a brief moment of uncomfortable silence passed before Lincoln spoke again.
“Who did it?”
“Nobody,” he wished he could have missed the hope that flashed through Lincoln’s features, the hope that the information must have been wrong or that it had been a cruel joke. “He did it to himself.”
“My son is not suicidal.”
“Prison can do strange things to a man…”
“Someone else did it!”
He wanted to leave it at that, let Lincoln spend his own last few days imagining that someone had attacked LJ but the phone call he’d received had been crystal clear, there hadn’t been any other involvement and as much as it pained him he wanted Lincoln to know the truth. “There wasn’t any other involvement.”
“He’s only fifteen! And he didn’t even kill his mother; the government did!”
Now the poor man was delusional, he was going beyond blaming other inmates to blaming the entire government. Pope was surprised that he didn’t go full out and blame the president.
“Vice-President Reynolds wanted all of this to happen! She framed me and they framed LJ because Michael was…”
“Because Michael was…?”
“Nothing, it doesn’t matter now anyway. They took away the only thing worth living for.” A sound escaped after the sentence, a sob that was stifled into appearing as a cough.
“There was a note…” it didn’t seem the ideal time to bring it up but he wasn’t sure that Lincoln could feel any more pain than he already was. He reached behind him to his desk, pulling the fax in front of him.
“What did it say?”
“I am afraid right now, I don’t want to let you down, and I am the one who can’t be saved. Love Lincoln Junior.”
He had obviously been wrong; Lincoln was capable of feeling more pain. His body seemed to close up even further, knees drawing closer to his chest as another choked sob occurred. “When’s the funeral?”
“I don’t know. At the minute there isn’t anybody who can claim the body outside of a correctional facility. It will probably be soon though, a simple affair.”
“I want to go to it.”
“That can’t be done Lincoln, you know that. You’re a flight risk.”
“I won’t escape… I promise.”
Pope shook his head again, “I’m sorry. Do you want to go back to your cell or would you rather stay here for a little while longer? I don’t mind.”
“Cell.”
The guard helped Lincoln to his feet, delivering him to the guards waiting outside and turned to face Pope again, awaiting orders. “It’s so sad, I suppose being raised around men like his father none of what he’s done is a shock. I want Lincoln placed on suicide watch and you’d better bring Michael Scofield up.”
His fingers shook as they glided across the dull edge of the blade, his mind trying to take in the sensation of it, focusing on anything apart from what it was destined to do.
Because that was what he believed now; there was no such thing as making your own luck or as controlling your own destiny. Everything was mapped out and as a Burrows his life was destined to be nothing but pain and torment and everything had become worse since he was arrested.
And the blade was the only way he knew he could end the pain. Michael wasn’t going to be able to break him out of the prison, nobody was going to save him and he coughed nervously, feeling the tears starting to form behind his eyes. He scrunched them shut, telling himself that real men didn’t cry, especially about something that was inevitable.
One more deep breath and he positioned the shank in the right place and he opened his eyes to check, closing them again, not wanting to see the blood as he took it to his wrists.
-*-*-*-*-
“I’m so sorry Lincoln.” The words washed over Lincoln as he collapsed into a pile on the floor, the guard behind him immediately reaching for his weapon, thinking that he had lunged himself at Pope. The older man shook his head and the guard paused.
“You’ve made a mistake.”
“I haven’t,” Pope sighed, at a loss of what to say and a brief moment of uncomfortable silence passed before Lincoln spoke again.
“Who did it?”
“Nobody,” he wished he could have missed the hope that flashed through Lincoln’s features, the hope that the information must have been wrong or that it had been a cruel joke. “He did it to himself.”
“My son is not suicidal.”
“Prison can do strange things to a man…”
“Someone else did it!”
He wanted to leave it at that, let Lincoln spend his own last few days imagining that someone had attacked LJ but the phone call he’d received had been crystal clear, there hadn’t been any other involvement and as much as it pained him he wanted Lincoln to know the truth. “There wasn’t any other involvement.”
“He’s only fifteen! And he didn’t even kill his mother; the government did!”
Now the poor man was delusional, he was going beyond blaming other inmates to blaming the entire government. Pope was surprised that he didn’t go full out and blame the president.
“Vice-President Reynolds wanted all of this to happen! She framed me and they framed LJ because Michael was…”
“Because Michael was…?”
“Nothing, it doesn’t matter now anyway. They took away the only thing worth living for.” A sound escaped after the sentence, a sob that was stifled into appearing as a cough.
“There was a note…” it didn’t seem the ideal time to bring it up but he wasn’t sure that Lincoln could feel any more pain than he already was. He reached behind him to his desk, pulling the fax in front of him.
“What did it say?”
“I am afraid right now, I don’t want to let you down, and I am the one who can’t be saved. Love Lincoln Junior.”
He had obviously been wrong; Lincoln was capable of feeling more pain. His body seemed to close up even further, knees drawing closer to his chest as another choked sob occurred. “When’s the funeral?”
“I don’t know. At the minute there isn’t anybody who can claim the body outside of a correctional facility. It will probably be soon though, a simple affair.”
“I want to go to it.”
“That can’t be done Lincoln, you know that. You’re a flight risk.”
“I won’t escape… I promise.”
Pope shook his head again, “I’m sorry. Do you want to go back to your cell or would you rather stay here for a little while longer? I don’t mind.”
“Cell.”
The guard helped Lincoln to his feet, delivering him to the guards waiting outside and turned to face Pope again, awaiting orders. “It’s so sad, I suppose being raised around men like his father none of what he’s done is a shock. I want Lincoln placed on suicide watch and you’d better bring Michael Scofield up.”
