In Prison for Writing Satire: Part III
This story is a sequel
Last line fromIn Prison for Writing Satire: Part II
But Emmalyn was from a long line of sword swallowers. She'd inherited the family's throat of steel & titanium tummy. She inhaled the deadly meal, glass, toxins, & all. She didn't even need to burp when it was done, but did anyway because the other side of her family were clowns.
- The death eating games were almost over, and it looked like out of the entire prison only like ten of us survived the deadly food. Among them were the satirist (me) and Emmalyn, the sword swallower. Before the final round, I whispered to Emmalyn, "Hey wanna escape together?"
- Her eyes grew wide, turning her head to face me. She looked scared but willing. "I. . .How would we? If they catch us, we're dead." Emmalyn crossed her arms. I swear at saw a tear in her eye. My hand touched hers. . .
1 - Something magical happened in that touch. Kismet. Destiny. Pheromones. Who knows? But from that moment on, Emmalyn & I worked as one. "Let's do this!" we said in unison. Simultaneously, we kicked out the window, flipped the guard the bird, & tumbled into the yard below. We ran.
1 - Well, I ran. Emmalyn ran, too, for a time. But it was hard for her to cover as much ground as me in those designer pumps. A heel broke. Her ankle twisted. Destiny? Fate? A guard trained his rifle on her and I had to make a decision. Pheremones? Or freedom?
1 - I knew I had to try to save her. I grabbed a rock and hurled it at the guard. I missed, hitting a nearby tree. The guard laughed dismissively, until a large branch, knocked loose by the rock, crashed down on him. I carried her home. Freedom and love were mine at last.2
The End