Angry Jasper: Thirty-Nine

He would have been better off in that cell, Jazz thought. His arms were handcuffed around an old steel beam. Skull Boy was on the floor nearby enjoying the last few bites of a chocolate bar. Jazz eyed the bar hungrily and would have given a nut for just one bite. He had not eaten since leaving Madame ’s the day before and could feel the ache of hunger in his bones. Skull Boy gobbled down the last of the chocolate, filling his cheeks and knowing full well how much he was torturing Jasper..

Worse than hunger, Jazz needed to take a mean piss. He beat his forehead against the beam, hoping the pain would stem the pressure. Jazz sworn under his breath. Banging his head did little to alleviate his burgeoning bladder, and gave him one hell of a headache to boot!

“Had enough to eat?” jazz asked, loathsome.

“Couldn’t eat another bite!” the boy rubbed his full belly, that gruesomely deformed face smeared with chocolate.

They were alone. The others had gone off, leaving them in some kind of storage chamber. By the looks of the boxes and crates this is where the conspirators stockpiled weapons for the coming coup. The rebel conspirators had hidden jazz and the boy just as Thomas’ freaks arrived. They wound up here, which Jazz still wondered if it was preferable to having his throat cut or submitting to whatever cruel fate Thomas’ men had in store for him. He sighed and pressed his cheek against the beam.

“This worked out pretty good for you, kid.”
Skull Boy didn’t answer. Jazz still couldn’t get use to looking for too long at the kid. Hell, he could even find a sort of odd beauty in the simpleness and efficiency of a cockroach, even some odd attraction to a fat horny old toad. But the kid…a lion would need a blindfold to keep from gagging on this one.

“Thought you could see the future?” he asked. “How come you didn’t see this?”

The kid looked off across the chamber, his eyes wide, as though transfixed on something. “I can see it. Don’t mean I have to talk about it.”

“News flash, kid,” Jazz snapped. “I’m the one who’s supposed to save you.”

“So?”
“Maybe you could help me little!”

“Why? I don’t like you.”

“How am I supposed to get us out of here shackled to this post, huh?”

“Relax,” said the boy. “Everything is going as it should.”

“Maybe you could clue me in a little?”

“Better this way,” he said.

“How do you figure?”

“Well for one, you can’t screw anything up this way.”

“That don’t make no dam sense!”

The kid turned. Those creepy dark eyes blinked once and then twice as they fixed upon Jazz. “Gets boring seeing the future all the time. So what? I see stuff happen and then it happens. Where’s the fun in that? Like watching a movie and every couple of minutes someone comes in and says, okay this is what will happen now. More fun to play with the future a little bit. Maybe I screw up and it goes another way. Now that’s fun!”

“You’re an odd critter.”

The door opened and Jazz looked up. A stepped inside and tossed an old tin plate at his feet. A fair amount of the gray-green slop at the bottom splashed onto the floor. It stunk to high heaven. Jazz wasn’t at all certain someone hadn’t already barfed his meal back up.

“What the hell is that?” he grumbled as the guard led Skull boy from the cell.

“Lunch,” replied the guard with a detestable grin.

“Flush the toilet for seconds?” Jazz words were lost as the door slammed shut. he looked at the plate and thought he saw something moved there. Just the thought of eating it made his stomach squirm, but beggars can’t be choosers, he thought. Besides, if he was going to get out of there and off the planet he would need every once of strength he could muster.

He studied the top of the beam where it met the stony ceiling. There was a little gap around beam, enough that he could wiggle it back and forth a bit. Not a lot, but enough that Jazz figured with a couple good tugs it might come loose enough for him to get his arms over the top. Looking back at the door once more, Jazz pushed away the plate with his left foot and got into a good strong stance. Holding tight to the shackles he rocked up and back several times for a little momentum. Jazz could hear the ancient concrete cracking and crumbling above him. He counted to three, checked one last time to be sure no one was near the door and yanked as hard as he could.

“Holy crap!” he groaned in pain, and falling back against the pole. Damn right something would give with a few more tugs. If Jazz didn’t bring the whole damn ceiling down on his head he was bound to dislocate both shoulders!
That was a waste, he told himself. Jazz slid to the floor onto his butt and eyed the gruel on the plate. This time he was sure something moved in the slop. He shook his head, and with a frown kind of tipped sideways. Jazz strained and stretched to get closer. The stink rose up to meet him fully, assailing his nostrils, bringing tears to his eyes and choking him.

It smelled like something a dead body would crap out. The stuff was vile, and worse the closer he came. Jazz fought the urge to gag and pushed his face into the lumpy lukewarm liquid. Something slithered into his nose, then retreated just as uickly. It helped to groan for some reason, as if that made the substance slithering down his throat easier to bear. He had eaten some nasty things over the years, but this just beat all.

A few good swallows was about all he could handle. Jazz sat up trying to spit the worst tasting chunks from his mouth. The stuff covered his face, dripped in to his eyes and leaked from his hair down the inside of his shirt. It felt alive there, slithering like creepy-crawlies down his body. Something caught in the back of his throat. Jazz hacked it up and spit it across the room, where it recovered and scurried away into the darkness.