by Adriana B.
Title: Imitation of life
Author: Adriana B.
Disclaimers: all of them belong to Tom Fontana, and I envy him for that!
Archived: wherever you want, just tell me, please
Feedback: here or privately (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Summary: Franklin Winthrop, Schillinger's prag during S5, thinks about his life at Oz.
Notes: many moons ago Dusty suggested me to write a drabble involving sex and food. For unknown reasons I remembered a scene from S5 "Wheel of Fortune", when Vern told Franklin he liked a nice, firm ass. Ugh, whatever. Being Schillinger's prag was probably an awful experience, but being his prag and having him to control your meals and expecting you to be attractive to him... what a nightmare! To Dusty - I hope you're feeling better now, girl! To Rifka, who made me believe I could write more than 100 words and waited about 3 months to edit this story (yeah, you can't even imagine how slow I can be sometimes!). And to my dear Roberta, who always loved Franklin Winthrop and reminded me details of his prison times.
Graduate from college. Find a good job. Meet the right woman. Have a great life. These guidelines were supposed to be followed by Franklin Winthrop, it'd guarantee him the same way of life his parents had, just like many ancestors before them had had too. Sure, being born at the right side of the tracks would allow him to have many privileges, and being a Winthrop made everything even better. A really good life was in front of him, and everybody thought he'd keep his family's tradition at the high place it already was. Yeah, it'd be a great life.
He wakes up. Time to open his eyes to another day in this shithole, remembering that he'd survived another night in here. His owner still snored on the bottom bunk, so Franklin would have a few brief minutes of peace. A sad smile comes to his face while thinking of it. Peace. In this place. He's losing his mind, definitely.
It was an unspeakable scandal when he and Adam were arrested after raping that girl, Mount St. Helens wouldn't provoke the same damage. Nobody could think those rich, educated, well-born guys were capable of such violence. Nobody could imagine they'd be sentenced to 28 years, up for parole in 7, at Oswald State Correctional Facility. Nobody could believe they would survive a week there.
Franklin generally wakes up moments before lights on, but it never lasts too long, just few minutes before the buzzer wakes up all his fellow inmates at Unit B. Anyway he'd learned to savor those moments, reminding himself of the man he should've been.
People, who were shocked at his sentence, should have remembered what had happened to that Beecher guy. Money didn't necessarily mean a better defense. He remembered when Adam had told him about the guy, few years ago. He used to be in Mr. Guenzel's boy scout troop and was arrested after killing a little girl while driving drunk. They laughed a lot then, drinking stolen beer and whiskey from his father while thinking how smart they were, it'd never happen to them - well, even if it happened they'd know how to cover their tracks, they'd never get caught.
He stood up as quietly as possible, paying attention to his surroundings. Inmates snore on old cracking bunks - these things were probably designed to punish them too, it was impossible to sleep comfortably on such thin mattresses. Hacks talk in a low voice, filling out forms about their shifts. There's nothing special to report, it was an uneventful night, no murders, no OD's, no rapes... well, bitches like him get used to taking it up their asses without making too much noise, don't they?
Adam, the asshole, was lucky enough to live in Em City. He wasn't raped and humiliated every day and every night there. But of course he wouldn't see things that way, he was too arrogant and dense most part of time. Stupid prick, he could go fuck himself, sooner or later he'd fall too.
Franklin sighs. This cell... his bedroom at home was at least 8 times bigger than this place, and there wasn't any gray in sight there. He wonders again why prison walls are always that color, like military battleships. Is it supposed to calm inmates? Or is it just cheaper than others? He shouldn't complain, his daily makeup has bright colors. He shivers. Here they are, his "Summer Red" lipstick and "Star Woman" pink eye shadow on a shelf over the sink, near his owner's razor, toothbrush and toothpaste. The bastard makes him keep his own teeth clean, saying it's important to have a healthy mouth - another orifice ready to Vern's dick. Ha. If that's a joke he didn't find it funny. He also makes Franklin clean the cell, do the laundry and carry his food tray in the cafeteria, saying those are housewife's duties. It'd be a small price to pay if there weren't other duties he'd have to perform every fucking night. Every fucking night, just another fucking joke. Ha, Franklin, now you're a comedian.
His baby face used to fascinate girls outside Oz, but here it just brought him problems on his very fist day. Clarence threatened him, and if Schillinger and Robson hadn't come to rescue him he'd be sucking a black dick right now. Big deal, that rescue has cost him the same price. But maybe Clarence wouldn't have forced him to use makeup. Maybe.
While washes his faces, trying to erase the shame of previous night, he thinks again why doesn't he just kill Schillinger. He'd have enough time to do it while the Nazi was sleeping. "You don't do that because you're a coward, Frankie, you use violence just against women", a mocking voice answered inside his mind. He shakes his head to stop those thoughts and dresses in his clothes, unaware if they looked good on him. His shirt is buttoned partway, tied in a small knot. It shows a little fat roll over his waist. Too little in fact, but Vern's been complaining a lot about his recent gained pounds, calling him a lazy bitch that doesn't want to satisfy his benefactor. Franklin barely believed those words - did Schillinger really think anybody who was abused on a regular basis would like to please him? Anyway it's better to keep the guy happy, at least he was safe and sound as the Aryan Brotherhood leader's prag. Safe and sound. Just another joke. Ha.
Vern always talked about the importance of being healthy and strong. For a man at his age the bastard was in a pretty good shape, he seemed to be healthier than the average inmate even eating the same shit everybody else used to eat here. Franklin had to concede that, Schillinger was very careful with his food, avoiding too many fats and carbs. Of course his Aryan comrades were supposed to adopt his dietetic standards, just like "Vern's personal piece of tight ass" - that's how Robson, the half-dick asshole, liked to call Winthrop. It wasn't easy for Franklin, because he was a spoiled brat, used to eat whatever he wanted, generally too much red meat, sandwiches, ice cream, fries... This was a normal habit to him. Eventually it'd provoke a heart attack, but he never thought a lot about it. Well, being under Schillinger's iron fist was going to change that, he was sure of it. The Nazi patiently explained him he'd take care of Franklin's meals. He wouldn't let him eat white food anymore: bread, mashed potatoes and noodles, whatever. Stuffing carbohydrates down his face wasn't good for his health or his shape, he'd said smiling and groping Winthrop's ass. White food has nothing but calories. It was a kind of contradiction to Vern's lifestyle, in which the only good color was white. Anyway Schillinger firmly believed on that shit, and yesterday's dinner was a reminder of that: Franklin sat 4 people away from Vern, trying to hide potatoes on his plate. Unluckily for him his owner had seen that and yelled about his dumbness, "What the fuck did I tell you? Don't you have anything between your ears?", while getting rid of his plate and telling Poet to give him another one, full of carrots. Only carrots. God, how he hated carrots, all his life he couldn't stand that vegetable, but he didn't dare to say that aloud. Scumbags all over the cafeteria laughed a lot, including his ex-good friend Adam. So he just sat and ate everything on his plate, trying to control the nausea that threatened to make him puke.
Finally the buzzer sounds. All inmates wake up and get ready for another day. His owner wakes up and smiles to him. He smiles back, that's the only thing he can do.
"- Good morning, prag."
"- Good morning, sir."
"- Did you sleep well?"
/No, sir, I didn't sleep well, I'll only sleep well again the day you're dead./
"- Yes, sir."
"- Me too, but you're still fat. I don't like to fuck a fat ass, you should have learned that by now. You're not eating out of my sight, are you, prag?" "- No, sir."
"- Good, but you're not as appealing as you were when arrived here. It's time to skip some meals, and of course you're going to exercise more. You know sweetpea, I like a nice firm ass. You need to go to the gym more frequently, got it?" "- Yes, sir."
"- Remember, Winthrop, I want you to be healthy and bee-u-tee-full, I'm worried about your welfare, I really appreciate your efforts in making me happy."
The mocking tone on Vern's voice. You bastard, I'll kill you, I'll make you regret the day you're born, Schillinger. But Franklin just smiles again.
"- Yes, sir."
Yeah, what a great life.