Jailbird Symphony

Story by crawlerxp

Hi, I'm new, but you probably got that already. Well, to make things short here, I do excessive amounts of leisure writing (friends hate it, I ditch them sometimes), and I got bored today about two hours ago so I decided to do this. I haven't ever done anything adult-oriented before, but it definitely fits into this site, which I just found recently and am enjoying. I'll probably continue with it, depending on whether or not I get back to my main works. Opinions are cool, advice is cool too, I really just figured it a shame to have written it and not put it out anywhere. Also, I don't make posts often (or ever, mostly...), so excuse me if I've done something wrong in the format as I am forum illiterate. Thanks, enjoy. Oh, also, I'm pretty tired and didn't bother to reread or revise it other than spacing out the paragraphs for this post. -CrawlerXP

Contains:

3 on 1

Rape

One non-graphic urination thing near the end (not bad)

Adult language in character dialogue

Age three, Ren breaks her first bone––her arm––after falling down the stairs in her home and is taken to the emergency room by her mother. Age seven, Ren learns to ride her first bike. Age sixteen, Ren earns her license and is brought by her father to work in his auto repair shop. Age seventeen, Ren rides her first bike, again. Shortly afterward, Ren leaves home alongside her first serious boyfriend, Kenta, and his friends, The Mongrels. Unlike everyone she rides with, for one reason or another Ren’s bike has never known the term ‘reverse’, and she has never backed up. Backing up is useless; Ren knows exactly what she’s left behind and where she’s come from, and she wants no part of it. Change is forward, she knows, for better or worse.

Things had gone pretty well since she left home, Ren thought. She had friends now, a boyfriend, a life, everything she ever needed or wanted. She never really understood why it was that her father had brought her to work with him, constructing the tool of his own destruction. But she hadn’t ever argued with it all the same. Ren likened it to teaching a housewife how to aim a gun when you planned to beat her anyway––didn’t make much sense any way she looked at it.

Ren had been the workhorse in the family under her father, and she had heard since that he had fallen into debt after she left. But it didn’t surprise her, since she had long since done the majority share work at the shop anyway. Without her, he scarcely would’ve been sober enough to tie his boots, let alone replace a transmission.

But the strange part was, even though she knew her father was in debt, and even though she loved her mother, even the deepest and most pure parts of Ren’s conscience and soul afforded her no desire or reason or care enough to go back home. And the phantom pain that would make itself known in her right arm from time to time was a constant reminder of why. She loved her mother, her mother’s strong and good-intentioned heart. But as it turned out, a strong heart wasn’t really worth all that much if it had a weak, silent tongue.

Things had gone pretty well until just about a month ago, actually. It was really kind of funny, when she thought about it. Out of all the things Ren had done wrong, all the laws she had broken, and all the times she had been guilty as sin over them, the one instance where she actually had been innocent had been the one to get her pinched. Life was funny that way, she supposed.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?” A graying judge turned his head to the jury at Ren’s right. A portly old man sitting there in his black robe behind the brown wood barrier, he reminded Ren a lot of a s’more.

It was strange, Ren thought, that even though her life had been placed squarely in the hands of those strangers to her right who would decide her fate in just a few seconds’ time, it had yet to strike her that way. It was too surreal, more like watching a cheap movie than living real life; the way her mind perceived it still––even as she stood center-stage in the courtroom, looking down at her shoulder-length red hair as it reflected in the glass of water there––it couldn’t be real; the production values were too small.

The foreman rose at the far end of the jury assembly. “We the jury find the defendant guilty,” he said simply and without any bit of concern, regret, or doubt.

In that moment, the instant in which Ren heard herself, the defendant, found guilty by a jury of her peers just as a younger Ren had watched happen to so many distant faces on Court T.V., in that moment it sank in. The judge tossed her six months of jail time for a robbery that Ren hadn't committed like he was tossing out Tootsie Rolls from a Hallow

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