PB Fic - Caged Bird Sings
Title: Caged Bird Sings
Authors: volatile/becisvolatile
Rating: PG-13 (?)
Characters: Tweener, T-Bag, Sucre, Mrs. Bellick, Sara, Michael.
Genre: Gen, drabblish (460 words)
Summary: They sing different songs for the same reasons.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Especially not anything related to Prison Break.
Notes: Not much happening here, just me poking my pen at an annoying bunny and feeding my own weird ass sense of humor… not that it’s terribly funny.
They sang about hardship, but drove Porsches. The irony was lost on David Apolskis. He could only see contemporary warriors, using their rhymes as armor, their words as cutting blades. They sang about prison as though it were a rite of passage. As though it was a place where you became a man.
Inside, David had only ever been robbed of his masculinity. But maybe if he held on to the notion. The idea. He’d become a man inside. He’d make other men feel like pussies in comparison.
If he could just hold on.
He wrote a song, scrawled it on a pad of prison issued paper. He used words like ‘Heavy’, ‘Freedom’ and ‘Walls’. Nobody told him that there was no ‘y’ in freedom.
*****
He liked to sing Amazing Grace it took him home. Or at least, to the only home he’d ever really been able to make for himself. A motel room, painted with the blood of a sixteen year old boy, echoing with his own sighs and grunts. He remembered singing in the young man’s ear.
‘I once was lost…’
As he sat in his cell and sang he was freed from the walls and bought back to the tenderness and warmth of that moment and many others like it.
*****
Fernando Sucre sang the songs that his mother had sung to him. The same songs that he would sing to his own son.
If he ever got that chance.
Some of the songs were about heroes. They were about men that he wanted to be more like. About men like Michael. Some were about untouchable women.
He didn’t like those ones so much. Untouchable women were often the most fun to touch. He knew. So did Michael.
Sometime he sang to mask noises. But mostly he sang because he could. Because it was one thing they couldn’t take away from him.
*****
She still sings to him. Those nights he isn’t working. She stands at his door or next to the lounge where he sits holding a beer and sings the same nursery rhymes that she has sung every night since he was born.
Although, as she said ‘Goodnight Bradley’ and began singing, she decided that she certainly had never anticipated having to sing goodnight to him for forty-four fucking years.
*****
For nearly two weeks Sara found herself humming along to every goddamn love song that came on the radio.
She got over it. Well, she got over the singing, at least.
*****
Michael was never really fond of singing. It didn’t get things done. So he didn’t do it.
However, that didn’t stop Eye of the Tiger running through his mind every time he rushed through the pipes and drains of Fox River.
Authors: volatile/becisvolatile
Rating: PG-13 (?)
Characters: Tweener, T-Bag, Sucre, Mrs. Bellick, Sara, Michael.
Genre: Gen, drabblish (460 words)
Summary: They sing different songs for the same reasons.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Especially not anything related to Prison Break.
Notes: Not much happening here, just me poking my pen at an annoying bunny and feeding my own weird ass sense of humor… not that it’s terribly funny.
They sang about hardship, but drove Porsches. The irony was lost on David Apolskis. He could only see contemporary warriors, using their rhymes as armor, their words as cutting blades. They sang about prison as though it were a rite of passage. As though it was a place where you became a man.
Inside, David had only ever been robbed of his masculinity. But maybe if he held on to the notion. The idea. He’d become a man inside. He’d make other men feel like pussies in comparison.
If he could just hold on.
He wrote a song, scrawled it on a pad of prison issued paper. He used words like ‘Heavy’, ‘Freedom’ and ‘Walls’. Nobody told him that there was no ‘y’ in freedom.
*****
He liked to sing Amazing Grace it took him home. Or at least, to the only home he’d ever really been able to make for himself. A motel room, painted with the blood of a sixteen year old boy, echoing with his own sighs and grunts. He remembered singing in the young man’s ear.
‘I once was lost…’
As he sat in his cell and sang he was freed from the walls and bought back to the tenderness and warmth of that moment and many others like it.
*****
Fernando Sucre sang the songs that his mother had sung to him. The same songs that he would sing to his own son.
If he ever got that chance.
Some of the songs were about heroes. They were about men that he wanted to be more like. About men like Michael. Some were about untouchable women.
He didn’t like those ones so much. Untouchable women were often the most fun to touch. He knew. So did Michael.
Sometime he sang to mask noises. But mostly he sang because he could. Because it was one thing they couldn’t take away from him.
*****
She still sings to him. Those nights he isn’t working. She stands at his door or next to the lounge where he sits holding a beer and sings the same nursery rhymes that she has sung every night since he was born.
Although, as she said ‘Goodnight Bradley’ and began singing, she decided that she certainly had never anticipated having to sing goodnight to him for forty-four fucking years.
*****
For nearly two weeks Sara found herself humming along to every goddamn love song that came on the radio.
She got over it. Well, she got over the singing, at least.
*****
Michael was never really fond of singing. It didn’t get things done. So he didn’t do it.
However, that didn’t stop Eye of the Tiger running through his mind every time he rushed through the pipes and drains of Fox River.