Post by Martyr on Dec 21, 2023 10:24:00 GMT -7
Ruby Thursday in
Last Meal
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Nothing had changed. In so long nothing had changed. This was not a reference to the monotony of prison. That was not an issue for a machine. It was not a reference to the politics of the place. She was a supergenius among intellectual insects. She could navagate the soft sciences with a subroutine. No. The uniform for women behind these bars, or more correctly given the technology plasma-infused hard light barriers, was canary yellow. Meanwhile, and this was key, as a direct slap in her spherical face, the men were given uniforms very near a ruby red.* Hers also had SHAPESHIFTER in big black letters across her right leg. It was somewhat true, even for them to exercise due caution.
There was one change since the last time she was here. In years past, at least for the heavy hitters, each inmate was fed individually within their cells. Fed of course was a relative term for an autotroph but the point remained. Now, they were herded three times a day into the common module at the center of their cells. Ruby Thursday pondered the reason for this change. It wasn't new management. Maybe they decided to device some new petty inconvenience: conversing with morons.
Her breakfast consisted of a package of off-off-brand cream of wheat, two slices of bone dry bread, a small container of skim milk, two little packages that should barely be called jelly, margarine, one of the few places that still used that, fake sugar, and the saddest excuse for an orange in the Western hemisphere, all slopped out on a black styrofoam tray. Pathetic.
Ruby Thursday sat down and assessed her conversation options more than the meal itself.
There was one change since the last time she was here. In years past, at least for the heavy hitters, each inmate was fed individually within their cells. Fed of course was a relative term for an autotroph but the point remained. Now, they were herded three times a day into the common module at the center of their cells. Ruby Thursday pondered the reason for this change. It wasn't new management. Maybe they decided to device some new petty inconvenience: conversing with morons.
Her breakfast consisted of a package of off-off-brand cream of wheat, two slices of bone dry bread, a small container of skim milk, two little packages that should barely be called jelly, margarine, one of the few places that still used that, fake sugar, and the saddest excuse for an orange in the Western hemisphere, all slopped out on a black styrofoam tray. Pathetic.
Ruby Thursday sat down and assessed her conversation options more than the meal itself.
* Her complains date back to Time Served. - Ed.