The Room Read Online Free Page B

the piece of paper. He listened to stipulations being made and agreed to for purposes of the preliminary hearing and then the judge would say so stipulated and it would be entered in the record. And then they started waiving. This was waived and noted; that was waived and noted. When they finished the stipulating and waiving the p.d. asked for a dismissal of the case on various grounds, citing various cases and decisions and the prosecuting attorney asked that they not be and cited cases and decisions. There was a brief recess while the judge retired to chambers to decide on the motions for dismissal.
    When the judge returned he spoke briefly to the attorneys, referring to their citations, then quoted a few himself before denying the motion for dismissal. Then there were questions and answers and a lot of other dumb shit and his goddamn lawyer just sat on his ass letting everything slide by, never once doing a fucking thing for him. Not once did the son of a bitch try. It was bullshit. The whole fucking thing was nothing but a bunch of bullshit.
    He had no idea how long he sat in that fucking courtroom, but time and the bullshit were endless. Finally the bullshit ended and he was led from the courtroom. Then, eventually, he was back in his cell.
    He sat on the edge of the bunk almost apathetically as the door clanged shutbehind him. His eyes burned and felt heavy. They ached from the enormous weight that seemed to be pressing on their lids. The light seemed to scrape them. Yet there was energy in his body. It wanted to move. It craved some sort of action. It was waiting to be directed against something … … someone. It wanted to leap out and away from the hollow feeling deep inside that seemed to come from the burning and aching eyes, the weighted and drooping lids. His head lowered itself to the pillow, and his legs rolled out on the bunk. His eyes fell closed and an arm covered his eyes.
    He tried thinking about the day but everything was confused. He knew he should have grabbed the guard when he opened the door this morning and smashed his head against the wall and opened all the cells and let everyone run mad and kill every uniformed prick they saw, but the pressure on his eyes would not allow him. He tried to grab the guard around the neck and snap his spine, but when he moved his arms they seemed to float with imperceptible slowness and years and years later they were still miles away from his neck. He could see himself watching his floating arms and he screamed at them to hurry, hurry, get him, and he twisted and knotted his body trying to urge the arms to move faster, but they continued to float, seeming to be suspended in a weightless space. Then after a passage of endless time, he felt a tingle in his hand, and his arm slid from his face, and the darkness lightened slightly and he squeezed his eyes open and became aware that his hand had fallen asleep and he was trying to shake it awake. He blinked rapidly as his vision was filled with the overhead light. His legs swung over the side of the bunk and his body raised itself to a sitting position. He sat for several moments, rubbing his face with his hand, then rose and went to the sink and splashed cold water on his face. He dried it then looked in the mirror, examining the blemish on his cheek. It seemed a little larger, more tender, a little redder. He examined it closely, touching it tentatively at first, then more firmly until he felt the needle-like pain. He removed his finger, continued to stare at the inflamed blotch, then went back to his bunk.
    He sat on the edge of the bunk wondering, at first, if he had slept, then when he realized that he must have, hewondered how long. O well, it didnt make any difference. Time was all the same. 3 meals a day and an occasional shower. The time of day was meaningless. And night. Lights always on so you never know. Except that its noisier during the day. All the same. No difference.
    He leaned against the wall and put