vanilla
Old Bill had six yellow teeth, long and gnarly; the rest lost to bar room brawls and a diet that consisted almost entirely of heavy drinking, heavy smoking and hot greasy chips. His dismal grin terrified his grandchildren.
Once the early morning start and the 100 miles from Melbourne had been negotiated, children, mothers, girlfriends, sisters and the friends who had chosen to hang in there, piled out of their cars to face the hour long line up at the entrance. Show your ID, sign in, empty your pockets, leave all your belongings in a locker and make your way through the metal detector towards the heavy grey door.
It was a long road back from all the undoing done in prison. He known nothing but the ever present threat of violence and a constant drone of foul language for five years. It had seeped into the very core of his being leaving him edgy and crude. He had been trapped in the middle of a spiteful war between the moronic prisoners on one side and the even more moronic prison officers on the other in a primal world of fear and loathing.
Dressed in his old suit which now hung from his bones, he made his way for the first time in eight years into a board room. He moved self consciously and struggled to summon the small talk and witty banter which had once been his trademark. He was a big fish out of water and would need to find a way to re-civilize himself.
Helen tried desperately to bury her thoughts, to save herself from drowning in an ocean of anxiety, but she was in too deep and her keepers were calling in favours.
She sighed nervously as she parked the car. It was depressingly wet out and she had to make a run for the door. It wasn't locked, so she pushed it open and moved anxiously into the hallway. She could hear the pitter patter of fingers on a keypad from a room at the back of the house. Her heart raced and she held her breath as she tiptoed towards the noise. The sound of the rain on the roof would have disguised her intrusion but a sudden creak of the floorboards betrayed her. Their eye met as she appeared in the doorway. "Who the f**k are you?", he imploded.
He set about manufacturing a fresh start. He ruthlessly purged his old clothes and material possessions and moved to a smaller place in a new neighbourhood. He wiped clean his computer and sat down to decide upon a new name.