Graffiti

Out in front of each housing unit is a picnic table. Usually marked in big red letters "OUT OF BOUNDS". This is the officers table. On an average day we don't get to spend a whole lot of time at it, but when we do need a break, that's usually where we head.

For some odd reason the Hive has the worst, nastiest, mankyest table in the whole camp. The wood is rotten and there are pieces missing from the table top and from the benches. This is probably because all we get as far as equipment (and inmates) is the stuff that nobody else wants. They get an extra filing cabinet or desk (or inmate) and someone offers it to all of the other housing units first. Then if nobody wants it, someone will say "Hell, send it down to the Hive. They'll destroy it and we won't have to worry about it anymore."

It's true. We are hard on stuff. But you know, all of that pent up aggression has to go somewhere. So we break things now and then. Where would you rather have it go? How much paperwork do you want to do?

I've wandered off subject. The picnic table....

We tend to doodle on the table. It pisses some people off but it's just another release. A way to get your mind off the knucklehead behind the door who just threatened to kill your whole family. Rather than go in and mop the whole wing with this knuckleheads brain you go out and doodle something on the table and think about other things. Look at the coffee stains and say "Hey, this kinda looks like Sarge!" and draw a little picture around it.

Harmless. A stress reliever. Good therapy.

Most of the stuff drawn on there tends to be rather juvenile and silly and quite a bit of it tends to be scatological. It's what we deal with. But every once in awhile one of my coworkers will write something deep or profound. It's startling.

So, without further ado, I'd like to present to you a little story written on the picnic table (by someone else, not me, despite what everyone thinks) that I refer to as

The War Story

"Once upon a time, in a land far far away
There was a great king
Who kept the balance between good and evil.
One day, from the depths of a cave at the base of a volcano
Spawned an evil warlord that would challenge this balance.
A great battle ensued.
Bloodstained battlefields stretched out
As far as the horizon
Until all that was left
Was the great king and the evil warlord.
The pair stood toe to toe
And decided to kiss and make up.
War is so gay."


I have my suspicions about the author, but I'll keep them to myself.