Chris Battle

I Know You’re In There

The fresh ink from the ballpoint pen traced over the faded lines that he had drawn on his ring finger many times over. Sometimes it was a design, sometimes just scribbled lines to darken the circumference of his finger where it meets his hand. Today he was in a hurry, so it lended itself towards the latter. His task complete, he tossed the pen into a metal cup on his desk, grabbed his beaded lanyard with his key on it, and walked out of his cell. He locked the door behind him.