PG13 for angst and words. I don't own the guys and make no money on them. Short and not very sweet. Jim's thoughts while in prison....

Lilguppee beta'd, but the mistakes are still mine.


NOR IRON BARS...



crowswork






You have got to get out of this place. The smells and sounds of the prison are threatening your sanity. The absolute certainty that any sign of weakness on your part will bring on attack makes you hide your emotions. Still the Jackals circle you. How long can you hold out?

Walk the yard. Pace the cell. Eyes down and be alert. Listen... even when you hear things that make you want to vomit. A boy not much older than Daryl is being raped by a gang of animals and left to bleed, while you, who once swore to protect, lay in your bunk and listen, helplessly.

You thought you were a tough guy. You let the kid convince you that you were some kind of fucking super hero. When you saw him playing teacher, no not playing... even here he tried to teach... you wanted to rage at him. But you also wanted to ask... maybe even beg... for him to take you home. Back to the clean, quiet loft and a bed made up with sheets that have that wonderful scorched cotton smell from the dryer. For a moment you looked up at him and let yourself feel.

Blair... shampoo and wool, sunlight and a sour tinge of fear. You hated to leave him alone in this hell. You hated being left.

Walk the yard. Pace the cell. "Hurry, Sandburg." You plead in whispers as you die a little inside your cage. "Get me out of here. Find my message and call in the troops. I trust you."

You pray that he will come for you as the bars blur and the walls close in.

The End


The Panther

His vision, from the constantly passing bars, has grown so weary that it cannot hold anything else. It seems to him there are a thousand bars, and behind the bars, no world.

As he paces in cramped circles, over and over, the movement of his powerful soft strides is like a ritual dance around a center in which a mighty will stands paralyzed.

Only at times, the curtain of the pupils lifts, quietly. An image enters in, rushes down through the tense, arrested muscles, plunges into the heart and is gone.

The title of the poem caught me. I don't know if someone else has used it but it seemed so... Jim.


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