The Cellmate


Another half-baked product from my weekly Scribble meeting:

“Of course not bad here… three square meals and all that innit?”

Godric din’t look up from his sketchbook.

“Sooo…” The last vowel trailed on a little awkwardly, vainly looking to hook a glance from his cellmate. “What’re you in here for?”

There was a pause, long enough to register reluctance but not so long to press retaliation.


“Ah….hahaha. Indeed, mate. Indeed the truth… You’re a reticent one, hmmm? I utterly respect that, mate. Can’t be too loose around here. Prob’ly suspecting the new chatter-chit, as well, aren’t we? No, can’t be too loose with allegiances here, now. Here. Name’s Brandon-non-epithet. No surname neither. Just Brandon and there-you-have-it-all.”

Godric looked up finally and acknowledged. His pale grey eyes did not flit or flutter but calmly alighted upon Brandon-non-epithet until the new cellmate broke the silence again.

“Aha… so what is you have there, eh?”

The eyes went back to the sketchbook, and Godric made a long stroke across the page.


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