An Unknown City

Another point of view.

"Open cell forty," the officer shouts at the walkie-talkie and with a disgusting sound, the cell bars-door is opened.

Mahone steps in the cell

"Close cell forty," behind him, the fat officer shouts again and the door of this tiny, sultry cell is closed again. Mahone puts the white clothes in the edge of the lower bed, then glances at the man lying on the upper bed. The man is less older than fifty, not so big in his body, but he can't see his face, because his back is turned to him

Dear new cellmate, Mahone utters silently, then drops himself on the single bed. Who knows what kind of criminal you are. A psychopath? Child abuser? Sex defender? A murderer? Or maybe, if God helps, a drug dealer? He sighs and puts an arm below of his head, shutting his eyes

"Why aren't you in juvenile prison?" a deep, gentle voice comes from the upper bed

Mahone lifts himself up, "Who are you?

He hears a chuckle in reply. "It doesn't matter who I am, does it? Fine, my name is Two G.

"What does that even mean?

"You didn't answer my question.

    Mahone stands up from his bed, wanting to see the man. The man is leaning against the wall, folding his legs, his black eyes twinkling, having a short hair cut. He doesn't look that tall in a seating position, but the glimpse of his tight muscles and broad shoulders prove that he's strong, at least physically

"Listen, man," he speaks tiredly. "I haven't even taken to the court for any trial, let alone the custody. Hell, my brother maybe doesn't even know that I've been transferred from the lockup room.

"That's weird," the man hums playfully. "The cops just arrested you, no trial, no court, no jury and threw you in a cell with a convicted murderer? Interesting!

Mahone is watching the man, feeling an urge to be careful of this man. "Who did you kill?

"Not 'Who', you should be asking 'How many', because I can't remember their names," Two G smiles wickedly

At last ending up with a psychopath in a cell

"Huh," frowns Mahone. "That's why your face looked familiar earlier. I must have seen you in the paper.

Two G laughs loudly. "Heh, heh. I don't think so, young boy. I was a journalist in the SF Chronicle, that's where you saw me.

"Seriously? You were a journalist?" he lifts his one eyebrow. "Don't tell me that you're a new, developed version of Vlado Taneski, man.

Two G sighs. "You don't have to believe me. Come on, tell me your story. What did you get caught for? Drugs? Stealing money?

"I wish," he looks up at the cement wall. "I stabbed a woman repeatedly with an antique knife in her belly, was going to pull the knife out, then the cops walked in and suddenly I found handcuffs around my wrists. Pfft!

Two G goes quiet, gazing at him

"You were being set up, weren't you?" he says softly after a while

Mahone feels anger, "Seriously, who the hell are you?

He chortles. "I am the one who knows how it does feel to be accused of doing something terrible, which I didn't do.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

Mahone was standing on a ground, as far as he could see, was small green grass, in above was a cloudless, sunny sk

"Where am I?" he muttered

He looked down at his clothes, the same usual black t-shirt and blue jeans. He looked around desperately, but there was nothing, no sound, except grasses. He started to move ahead, blinking

"Is somebody here?" he yelled, breathing out

   Only the echoes of his voice came back through his ears. He squints at the sunlight, covering his face, as if the sun was bantering at his helplessness. His throat was going dry, the scorching heat became uncomfortable, sweats dripping from his face

How did he end up here alone

He kept walking ahead, his shoes destroying, smashing the new grasses and the sun was in a mission to burn him. He walked and walked, he couldn't tell for how long

Suddenly he heard sounds

And suddenly the view changed

   The ground was full of wounded bodies, piled one after another, drowning with their own blood. Mahone grasped his head, shutting his eyes tight, couldn't see their wounded fleshes, couldn't hear their broken, high-pitched moans and screams and howls

"Mahone," he heard his name beside him, he slowly opened his eyes

"Henry!" he couldn't believe his eyes. How could his friend be alive

"Mahone, help me," he gasped, a bullet shot in his chest causing the blood draining, he was dying steadily

"No, that's not possible," Mahone whispered, looking at his blood with horror. "You died, Henry! I buried you with my own hands!

He looked around again, all the corpses

"Every dead body is lying here, every person is dying here now, because of you," a voice made him flinch. "All of this is your fault!

He turned.

"Father?" he muttered angrily

"Every death of here is your fault! Look around, what have you done!" his father shouted at him

"No," Mahone shook his head, then laughed. "Then you should be dead too. Why aren't you? Because," he grimaced, pointing a finger at his chest. "Because, every death happens here, is your fault, Father!

His father growled intimidatingly

"Mahone, stop," a gentle and sweet voice spoke behind me

No, no, no. What's happening to me

He grabbed his head with all of his strength, praying, screaming, "Stop it! Stop it now!

"Mahone, son, look at me," the sweet voice came closer to him

He opened his eyes, feeling so afraid

 There was his mother, standing in front him, wearing a white dress, her eyes full of love

"Mother?" he whispered, feeling so scared that she would go away

She smiled, touching his cheek gently, "My sweet, sweet son.

Mahone hesitantly touched her hand, heaven, he felt it. "How is even that possible?

"You never got to say goodbye," tears fell from her calm eyes, down to her cheek. "I have missed you, my son. I came back.

  He took his mother's hand, pressing his face against it, his heart scattering into pieces

"I'm so, so sorry," his voice broke, sobbing

"Shh, it's okay," he felt her fingers brushing his hair, like she used to do when he was younger and she was still alive

"Let him go, Brianna," his father interrupted them. "It's time for you to go.

"No, no," he gripped her hand tightly, shaking his head in protest. "You're not leaving me.

His mother brushed her hand on his forehead, crying gently. "It's okay, son.

"No, no! It's so not okay," he protested. "You're not leaving me again, Mother!

"Time to say goodbye, my sweet son," her figure started to disappear

"No, Mother!" he screamed

"Mahone, wake up!" a firm hand is shaking his shoulder. "You're going to wake all the prison inmates up. Wake up

He opens his eyes, gasping for air

Two G looks at him with a worried gesture, moving aside. "You okay?

Mahone slowly sits on the bed, his shirt became wet with sweats

It was a dream

"It was a dream," he repeats, roaming around the tiny cell. "Why did you wake me up?

Two G stares at him confusedly. "You were screaming, buddy. If I didn't wake you up, the night officers would already grab you and throw you in a empty solitary cell.

"It felt real," he speaks, anger boiling inside of him, breathing heavily. "It fuckin' felt real, although it wasn't! I couldn't say goodbye to my mother!" he abruptly stands up, clenching his fists with rage

"Whoa, whoa, calm down," his mysterious cellmate warns him. "Listen to me, okay? Focus. It was a nightmare, okay? You fell asleep and you saw a dream and now it's messing with your emotions," he gently puts his hands on his shoulders. "Take some deep breaths, buddy. Inhale and exhale, focus on your breathing.

Mahone inhales deeply, then her mother's face emerged in his mind, he jerks his head, telling himself to breathe

It was a dream, he tells himself. Your mother is dead, you know it

"You alright?" Two G asks softly

Mahone nods slightly, giving time to his mind to calm the anger and the pain. He wipes his tears by his thumb, then gently lies his head on the pillow.

"Goodnight, Mahone.""Open cell forty," the officer shouts at the walkie-talkie and with a disgusting sound, the cell bars-door is opened

Mahone steps in the cell

"Close cell forty," behind him, the fat officer shouts again and the door of this tiny, sultry cell is closed again. Mahone puts the white clothes in the edge of the lower bed, then glances at the man lying on the upper bed. The man is less older than fifty, not so big in his body, but he can't see his face, because his back is turned to him

Dear new cellmate, Mahone utters silently, then drops himself on the single bed. Who knows what kind of criminal you are. A psychopath? Child abuser? Sex defender? A murderer? Or maybe, if God helps, a drug dealer? He sighs and puts an arm below of his head, shutting his eyes

"Why aren't you in juvenile prison?" a deep, gentle voice comes from the upper bed

Mahone lifts himself up, "Who are you?

He hears a chuckle in reply. "It doesn't matter who I am, does it? Fine, my name is Two G.

"What does that even mean?

"You didn't answer my question.

    Mahone stands up from his bed, wanting to see the man. The man is leaning against the wall, folding his legs, his black eyes twinkling, having a short hair cut. He doesn't look that tall in a seating position, but the glimpse of his tight muscles and broad shoulders prove that he's strong, at least physically

"Listen, man," he speaks tiredly. "I haven't even taken to the court for any trial, let alone the custody. Hell, my brother maybe doesn't even know that I've been transferred from the lockup room.

"That's weird," the man hums playfully. "The cops just arrested you, no trial, no court, no jury and threw you in a cell with a convicted murderer? Interesting!

Mahone is watching the man, feeling an urge to be careful of this man. "Who did you kill?

"Not 'Who', you should be asking 'How many', because I can't remember their names," Two G smiles wickedly

At last ending up with a psychopath in a cell

"Huh," frowns Mahone. "That's why your face looked familiar earlier. I must have seen you in the paper.

Two G laughs loudly. "Heh, heh. I don't think so, young boy. I was a journalist in the SF Chronicle, that's where you saw me.

"Seriously? You were a journalist?" he lifts his one eyebrow. "Don't tell me that you're a new, developed version of Vlado Taneski, man.

Two G sighs. "You don't have to believe me. Come on, tell me your story. What did you get caught for? Drugs? Stealing money?

"I wish," he looks up at the cement wall. "I stabbed a woman repeatedly with an antique knife in her belly, was going to pull the knife out, then the cops walked in and suddenly I found handcuffs around my wrists. Pfft!

Two G goes quiet, gazing at him

"You were being set up, weren't you?" he says softly after a while

Mahone feels anger, "Seriously, who the hell are you?

He chortles. "I am the one who knows how it does feel to be accused of doing something terrible, which I didn't do.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

Mahone was standing on a ground, as far as he could see, was small green grass, in above was a cloudless, sunny sk

"Where am I?" he muttered

He looked down at his clothes, the same usual black t-shirt and blue jeans. He looked around desperately, but there was nothing, no sound, except grasses. He started to move ahead, blinking

"Is somebody here?" he yelled, breathing out

   Only the echoes of his voice came back through his ears. He squints at the sunlight, covering his face, as if the sun was bantering at his helplessness. His throat was going dry, the scorching heat became uncomfortable, sweats dripping from his face

How did he end up here alone

He kept walking ahead, his shoes destroying, smashing the new grasses and the sun was in a mission to burn him. He walked and walked, he couldn't tell for how long

Suddenly he heard sounds

And suddenly the view changed

   The ground was full of wounded bodies, piled one after another, drowning with their own blood. Mahone grasped his head, shutting his eyes tight, couldn't see their wounded fleshes, couldn't hear their broken, high-pitched moans and screams and howls

"Mahone," he heard his name beside him, he slowly opened his eyes

"Henry!" he couldn't believe his eyes. How could his friend be alive

"Mahone, help me," he gasped, a bullet shot in his chest causing the blood draining, he was dying steadily

"No, that's not possible," Mahone whispered, looking at his blood with horror. "You died, Henry! I buried you with my own hands!

He looked around again, all the corpses

"Every dead body is lying here, every person is dying here now, because of you," a voice made him flinch. "All of this is your fault!

He turned.

"Father?" he muttered angrily

"Every death of here is your fault! Look around, what have you done!" his father shouted at him

"No," Mahone shook his head, then laughed. "Then you should be dead too. Why aren't you? Because," he grimaced, pointing a finger at his chest. "Because, every death happens here, is your fault, Father!

His father growled intimidatingly

"Mahone, stop," a gentle and sweet voice spoke behind me

No, no, no. What's happening to me

He grabbed his head with all of his strength, praying, screaming, "Stop it! Stop it now!

"Mahone, son, look at me," the sweet voice came closer to him

He opened his eyes, feeling so afraid

 There was his mother, standing in front him, wearing a white dress, her eyes full of love

"Mother?" he whispered, feeling so scared that she would go away

She smiled, touching his cheek gently, "My sweet, sweet son.

Mahone hesitantly touched her hand, heaven, he felt it. "How is even that possible?

"You never got to say goodbye," tears fell from her calm eyes, down to her cheek. "I have missed you, my son. I came back.

  He took his mother's hand, pressing his face against it, his heart scattering into pieces

"I'm so, so sorry," his voice broke, sobbing

"Shh, it's okay," he felt her fingers brushing his hair, like she used to do when he was younger and she was still alive

"Let him go, Brianna," his father interrupted them. "It's time for you to go.

"No, no," he gripped her hand tightly, shaking his head in protest. "You're not leaving me.

His mother brushed her hand on his forehead, crying gently. "It's okay, son.

"No, no! It's so not okay," he protested. "You're not leaving me again, Mother!

"Time to say goodbye, my sweet son," her figure started to disappear

"No, Mother!" he screamed

"Mahone, wake up!" a firm hand is shaking his shoulder. "You're going to wake all the prison inmates up. Wake up

He opens his eyes, gasping for air

Two G looks at him with a worried gesture, moving aside. "You okay?

Mahone slowly sits on the bed, his shirt became wet with sweats

It was a dream

"It was a dream," he repeats, roaming around the tiny cell. "Why did you wake me up?

Two G stares at him confusedly. "You were screaming, buddy. If I didn't wake you up, the night officers would already grab you and throw you in a empty solitary cell.

"It felt real," he speaks, anger boiling inside of him, breathing heavily. "It fuckin' felt real, although it wasn't! I couldn't say goodbye to my mother!" he abruptly stands up, clenching his fists with rage

"Whoa, whoa, calm down," his mysterious cellmate warns him. "Listen to me, okay? Focus. It was a nightmare, okay? You fell asleep and you saw a dream and now it's messing with your emotions," he gently puts his hands on his shoulders. "Take some deep breaths, buddy. Inhale and exhale, focus on your breathing.

Mahone inhales deeply, then her mother's face emerged in his mind, he jerks his head, telling himself to breathe

It was a dream, he tells himself. Your mother is dead, you know it

"You alright?" Two G asks softly

Mahone nods slightly, giving time to his mind to calm the anger and the pain. He wipes his tears by his thumb, then gently lies his head on the pillow.

"Goodnight, Mahone." ...".""..".!" ..""""..."""...."?..".. ".".?.....?....y."".."""""..""".""""..... ...".""..".!" ..""""..."""...."?..".. ".".?.....?....y."".."""""..""".""""....rs by his thumb, then gently lies his head on the pillow. 

"Goodnight, Mahone."