Btw, all readers...i've decided that part one of this story will be called "The Magic of Chocolate", so that won't be the actual name of the story...also, part one is about to end, so soon look for something else. (the chapters will continue, so part two may start on chapter seven or eight) i'll post in the topic description that it's part two to the magic of chocolate story, so that you'll know. (and you'll just have to do without the rating reasons then...maybe i'll post them at the start of the actual thread)

anyways, read on!

Five <^> Journal of a Prisoner

After Dante was safely in jail, the cop had given him two things. A black, felt-tipped marker and a notebook. “It’s for a journal,” the cop said. “I don’t think you deserve it, but the chief says that you should have somethin’ to do.”

“Well…” Dante said, smiling sarcastically at the cop. “Ain’t that just dandy of you!”

The cop rolled his eyes and stomped away.

Dante looked at the notebook. It was blue, and he noticed that it was soft and had no sharp edges — that way it was impossible to use as a weapon. He tossed the notebook in the corner. He didn’t feel like writing.

For a while, he just tossed the pen up and down, and spun it in his fingers. He stared at the opposite wall, which was white, and surprisingly clean for a prison. Then Dante walked over to the wall and drew a small circle, then walked back over to the other side. He practiced throwing the pen at the wall — writing side first, so he could keep track of how he was doing. He did well, but after about fifteen minutes, he got bored. He sat down and leaned against the wall, basically thinking about nothing, until finally, he decided to write in the journal.

He picked up the pen and the book, and started to write….

I’m writing this journal cause… well, first of all I’m in prison so I’m really freaking bored, and second of all so that if something bad happens to me I can look bad on this and think ‘hey, this isn’t too bad, look at what was happening back then’. Well, that’s only if Rock doesn’t find me here in this prison and “forcibly wipe me off the face of the planet”. (That’s for all you cops who don’t want me to say the word “kill”, since ya’ll will take this and see what I’m writing about.

So anyways… here’s what happened. (This is also good in case I get amnesia.) I got all caught up in stealing stuff and smuggling stuff. (Oh, c’mon, cops… I know you aren’t that smart, but you don’t think I’d ACTUALLY reveal what I was smuggling, do you?) So sometime earlier this week — I guess it was five days ago — I got a job with Rock. Ya’ll know that Rock’s like the biggest gangsta dude on Earth — or at least in America, don’t you? Yeah, well… Rock wanted some stuff, so I got the stuff, but on it’s shipment it got mixed up with something else. I sent the wrong stuff to Rock, and Rock’s stuff to some other guy. (And this is where I knew I shouldn’t’ve gotten mixed up with Rock, even though his pay was great.) So Rock found me, slammed me up against the wall of his — residence — and told me that I’d better get his [unprintable] stuff (well, the stuff wasn’t unprintable, but… oh, never mind), or he’d make my head a little bit softer (that wasn’t exact wording there — a bit worse in his case). He told me I had three days. Well, originally, this stuff took over a month to ship, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to get the flippin’ stuff in time. So what the heck do I do? Well, duh, I ran away.

So I was on the run, trying to get help from my “brother” (who’s such an IDIOT, cares more about his meetings than—oh...), when I was caught. Now I’m stuck here. And I’ll bet the rest of my money (that I didn’t spend) that Rock’s after me right now.

again, again, again, again (or something like that

) thanks for reading through