Closing his eyes, Marcel imagines there ain’t cinder blocks squeezing the bunk bed, creating a corridor so narrow he can’t walk in his cell without turning sideways first. He dreams of sky, sun, fresh air.

He can’t pretend the bed don’t shake when his roommate coughs and wheezes. He can’t ignore the face mask. When he inhales, it flutters against whiskered cheeks, contaminated air fogging his glasses.

 “I got four more months,” his roommate repeats. “What you got?”

Marcel wants to disappear into the threadbare blanket around his shoulders. He’s sweating, but he can’t get warm.

“I got life.”


I wrote this micro fiction in response to Carrot Ranch Literary Community’s 99-word weekly challenge:

June 25, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story with the phrase, “I got life.” It can be told from any point of view. What meaning does it lend to your story? Go where the prompt leads!