A Hard Rains A'Gonna Fall

A Hard Rains

A'Gonna Fall

Cody C

Loading...

I: Thunder and Concrete

Loading...

Back in the summer of ‘03, I spent the days contemplating my misdoings in Holdensfield State Co-Ed Penitentiary, a poorly thought out budget cut for the state that never ceased to do anything but cause problems for the guards that worked there and the poor souls who were interred for reasons beyond their control. Even the look of the prison mirrored the state’s view of us, just one big, ugly, bloodstained lump of concrete. Think of the prison as a large-scale Shrödinger’s Cat, if Schrödinger had toyed with high explosives instead of his poor pet. I honestly never knew when something was going to get violent in Holdensfield, but I knew that it would eventually.

The prisoners killed each other much too often for any real control to be left to one person, but a few old-timers and I knew the structure and guards well enough to get by. This brings me to the issue of the guards. What a mean lot of hardasses they were, and they relished in the power society had granted them over us. Sgt. Davis, who was neither a sergeant nor a member of the service, but we called him that just the same, commanded the work yard with an iron fist, as cruel and uncaring as the concrete that walled us in. The warden, whose name I now can’t seem to remember, ran aloof from the prison, and never held the incentive or backbone to parole even the most worthy of inmates. But truly the worst amongst the staff was the prim Ms. Bella Orlov, a former Russian ballet dancer with a serious lust for control.

Loading...

1

Loading...

Even the simplest task became a whole organized crusade, with Bella ordering prisoners to fill out forms and gain extensive permission whenever they wanted anything besides work or sleep. Worse yet was her belligerent rage whenever someone stepped out of line, resulting in, at best, a few bruises, or worse, a trip to the infirmary. I could talk for days about all the prisoners I encountered in that concrete gutter, but there was only one man who I ever looked up to, and that man arrived to us like a gift from the divine powers.

When I first saw Jason Wallberg, he was lounging in his bus seat like a dark herald riding a steel chariot into hell. Harsh thunder and lightning framed his dull grey prison transport as it slowly cruised into the prison yard, but nary a drop of rain fell. I guess now that he resembled some kind of twisted messiah, but I knew nothing about him at the time. I would later be informed secondhand that the police had arrested him on multiple vandalism and destruction of property charges with seemingly no connection, but even after getting one look at him I knew that he reveled in chaos for chaos’ sake. I didn’t even formally meet him until that night during lights out, but by that time I felt like I had heard enough to have that guy figured out.

Loading...

Even the simplest task became a whole organized crusade, with Bella ordering prisoners to fill out forms and gain extensive permission whenever they wanted anything besides work or sleep. Worse yet was her belligerent rage whenever someone stepped out of line, resulting in, at best, a few bruises, or worse, a trip to the infirmary. I could talk for days about all the prisoners I encountered in that concrete gutter, but there was only one man who I ever looked up to, and that man arrived to us like a gift from the divine powers.

When I first saw Jason Wallberg, he was lounging in his bus seat like a dark herald riding a steel chariot into hell. Harsh thunder and lightning framed his dull grey prison transport as it slowly cruised into the prison yard, but nary a drop of rain fell. I guess now that he resembled some kind of twisted messiah, but I knew nothing about him at the time. I would later be informed secondhand that the police had arrested him on multiple vandalism and destruction of property charges with seemingly no connection, but even after getting one look at him I knew that he reveled in chaos for chaos’ sake. I didn’t even formally meet him until that night during lights out, but by that time I felt like I had heard enough to have that guy figured out.

Loading...

2

That night, shortly after the big, industrial lights had sharply switched, a vile voice began shrieking into the darkness.

“I AM AN ANTI CHRISTA! I AM AN ANARCHIST! SO MANY WAYS TO GET WHA-”, Jason chanted until Bella’s voice cut him off.

“You will be silent, you insolent piece of shit!” Bella whisper shouted.

“YOU CAN’T HOLD ME,” Jason retorted and then paused for a second, “I’LL START A RIOT AND GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!”

“I shall let you do no such thing while I order you,” Bella seethed back.

At that point, I had heard enough, so I turned my ear away from the troublemaker and allowed slumber to take hold of me.

II: Infinite Force, Immovable Woman

The next time I saw Jason, we were both toiling away on a labor crew that was sent out to sort garbage in a dump a few miles from Holdensfield. During the first few days of hard labor, Jason must’ve seen some old fender lying in the labyrinthine piles of trash because that was all he could talk about for the next few days. From what I gather, Jason must have rocked with a small band before the cops arrested him, and he had seen the power that music can have over a group of already rowdy people. It was then that I think I started to truly believe that Jason planned to make good on his promise to start that riot, and I assumed that music was his means to that end.

Bella, the scrawny but quick woman who had slowly developed into an almost mythical figure amongst the inmates, also inhabited the worksite, but as a cruel taskmaster rather than a powerless worker. Years of work had left an imprint in her mind, and she clearly knew that worksite well, deftly slipping between the stack of rusty iron, always there whenever punishment needed to be doled out.

I might be misremembering, but I believe that on our twelfth day of work, Jason made his move for the guitar. Now, what follows is a hearsay account of what happens, but nothing matters but the outcome.

3

III: Waste

The next time I saw Jason, we were both toiling away on a labor crew that was sent out to sort garbage in a dump a few miles from Holdensfield. During the first few days of hard labor, Jason must’ve seen some old fender lying in the labyrinthine piles of trash because that was all he could talk about for the next few days. From what I gather, Jason must have rocked with a small band before the cops arrested him, and he had seen the power that music can have over a group of already rowdy people. It was then that I think I started to truly believe that Jason planned to make good on his promise to start that riot, and I assumed that music was his means to that end.

Bella, the scrawny but quick woman who had slowly developed into an almost mythical figure amongst the inmates, also inhabited the worksite, but as a cruel taskmaster rather than a powerless worker. Years of work had left an imprint in her mind, and she clearly knew that worksite well, deftly slipping between the stack of rusty iron, always there whenever punishment needed to be doled out.

I might be misremembering, but I believe that on our twelfth day of work, Jason made his move for the guitar. Now, what follows is a hearsay account of what happens, but nothing matters but the outcome.

4

Jason must have slipped off during a lunch break because, by the time we went back to work, Bella was pacing around in an uncharacteristically messy panic. Almost everyone there (and some who weren’t) swore that they saw Jason darting through the stacks with his prize; Bella followed like an angry swan. Suddenly, BOOM, a noise shook the whole dump and a cloud of dust and dirt rose into the hot sky. We all peered down the rows of trash to see that one of them had been pushed over and that Jason was running back with his newfound treasure.

I don’t know how he smuggled that beast of an axe back into the prison, but I do know that Bella was livid when she couldn’t confiscate it. Though Jason never recruited me to his little project, word soon spread around Holdensfield that Jason planned to signal the start of his own riot with a little concert just to stick it to the “Powers that Be.”

5

IV: The Quiet Before

However, late that August, Bella threw a wrench in Jason’s schemings by moving him to an intense work program to keep him from planning his riot. Jason, however, easily took control of his situation, and always conceived a nifty way to breeze through his duties. Whether it was building a small ramp that could carry the license plates he was working on down the assembly line or some other innovation, Jason always held the upper hand. So, after around three months of failure, Bella caved and released him back into the greater prison.

V: The Storm

The last time that I ever laid eyes on Jason was only two weeks after he escaped from the jaws of solitary confinement, and boy was that a day that I remember well. At around noon, some of the other old-timers started murmuring about something that was going on in the mess hall. Because I had nothing else to do, I half walked and half sprinted over through the halls to catch a glimpse of what Jason had done now.

6

The second I laid eyes on the mess hall, something inside me knew that something big was about to go down. Jason had niftily assembled banners made from torn bedsheets and had hung them all over the walls, their obscene messages violently contrasting the bland concrete they rested on. In another act of resourcefulness, Jason seemed to have set up some kind of link between his guitar and some wires in the wall (which I can only assume led to the prison’s PA system).

As I looked upon him as he stood atop a rusty cafeteria table, his guitar seemed to transform into a staff of great power, a weapon more powerful than any of the guards’ nightsticks or fists. And, the seconds seemed to slow down as he raised his fist up and then brought it down to strike up his first chord. But as soon as his first C chord rang out, he paused for a moment as if he had sensed something that I hadn’t.

BANG! The door burst open as Bella marched into the room with a comically sized revolver in her hand shouting madly at Jason.

“I’ve mastered men far worse than you Wallberg,” Bella asserted, “and nothing happens in my prison without my approval. Now put down that wretched instrument before you inspire some other wild animals to riot.”

7

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to do that over my dead body,” Jason retorted as he picked up his song and played again.

Even as Bella clicked back the safety on her revolver, Jason played on, but no response seemed to come from the other inmates. Her face as red as a blister, Bella took aim, and then-

Slam! A swarm of inmates rushed through the cafeteria door, trampling Bella and her illusions of control.

After that, I don’t remember much, just a mob of people sweeping me up and stampeding toward the gates with Jason riding the crowd like a master jockey. As we stormed through the gates, a thick rain picked up, drenching both Bella and Holdensfield as we waltzed away from it forever.